


brighter than this path before me

by justaboat



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-11 23:34:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justaboat/pseuds/justaboat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a story of two boys trying to find themselves, together or apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	brighter than this path before me

**Author's Note:**

> if not for these people this fic would still be sitting half finished my google drive.
> 
> greta, who basically wrote this and stayed up until the early hours of the morning editing and adding comma's. i can't express how thankful i am for your help and i love you so incredibly much. dick me.
> 
> mady, for encouraging and loving me and fixing that one line about assholes. you put up with my whining and came up with the title and i love you so much more than i can say in this little box. 
> 
> and bella, you believed in me from the beginning when this was one sentence and telling me to keep going. i love you so much.
> 
> if you read this thank you, you're wonderful.

He’s halfway through his second mug of tea when he hears the rain.

Louis loves the rain.

He hates that his first thought goes to Louis, hates that that part of him won’t seem to change.

There’s grounds at the bottom of his cup but he knows Ben’s to blame for that. He’s terrible with making coffee but it’s Harry’s day off and he isn’t going to say anything. Instead he puts the mug down on his table, his eyes wandering over the blank page before him, sighing as he runs a hand through his hair.

It’s been blank for over two hours and all he can think about is how much Louis loves the rain. There’s one instance that flashes through his mind so vividly, almost as if it happened yesterday.

“Harry, are you going to help me over here?” Louis’ voices is strained, stressed.

He just giggles from behind the camera. “Don’t think so, Lou. I’ve got quite the view from over here...” He’s referring to his ass of course, considering Louis bent over and trying to figure out how the hell their tent is supposed to get put together and Harry is shamelessly enjoying it.

“Now is not the time, Styles. Do you want to sleep tonight or not?” Louis replies, not looking up from the mess before him. 

“I’m sure we could find other things to do Louis.” Harry’s being cheeky and he can hear Louis sigh in response.

“You’re an arse, you know that?” Harry nods because he knows.

They’d arrived about an hour ago, Harry nearly bursting with excitement when they’d pulled in, beaming to Louis. They were here. They’d made it. They were at Leeds, the one place Harry had wanted to go since he was sixteen years old. Now he’s eighteen and at Leeds with Louis, and nothing could ruin this perfect day.

Not even Louis whining over the massively complicated tent Harry had thrown into the back of the car haphazardly will ruin it. Harry won’t let it. 

“Why don’t we go get some food?” Harry asks, bouncing in his chair as Louis still doesn’t look up, instead flipping him his middle finger in response.

He laughs, turning off the video camera as he slides his phone into his pocket, approaching Louis as he kneels beside him. And well, Louis had been right. It’s a terrible mess.

“When was the last time you used this tent?” Louis asks, glancing to Harry briefly.

“To be honest I don’t think we ever did. I think my dad tried to put it together once and gave up,” Harry recalls and Louis rolls his eyes.

“That would explain it.” Louis doesn’t continue lecturing, instead he leans his head into Harry’s shoulder. 

They’re both warm, skin sticky with sweat as Harry wraps an arm around Louis and pulls him close to his side. Louis bites down on Harry’s clothed shoulder, making a small noise of complaint as Harry laughs quietly.

He carefully moves some of Louis’ fringe from his forehead, slightly damp from sweat as he shakes his head.

“Don’t like the heat, do you, babe?” Harry asks, voice softer now as Louis pouts lightly.

“You’re going to delete that video of me from your phone right?” Louis’ voice is firm, but somehow Harry can still make out the fondness in it.

“Of course.” He won’t. 

Louis nods, satisfied. They stay like that for a moment, staring at the pile of an unmade tent, pressed into one another as the sound of music and yelling in the distance seems to get louder in the silence.

“Are you hungry?” Louis asks. Harry nods and Louis smacks a kiss to his cheek before standing, brushing off his legs as he motions toward the pathway.

“But the tent?” Harry replies, glancing to the pile.

Louis waves his hand in response. “The tent can wait. We have to get you fed and happy.” He tugs on Harry’s hand and Harry follows because, well. It’s Louis.

And so they go and get food. It’s ridiculous because there’s people everywhere, laughing and singing and it’s so loud that he can barely hear himself think. Every once in awhile Louis will point to something, someone, a band member, and the two will giggle to one another in the warm summer air. There’s a group of girls screaming because some contestants for the X Factor are here, and Louis and Harry take the opportunity to get a good spot in line for food. Louis’ hand is sweaty and warm in Harry’s own, fingers intertwined without a care in the world.

Harry likes that. Likes having Louis so close without having to worry about anyone or anything. It’s the two of them, at Leeds, like Harry had wanted so badly. 

They get two plates of chips, Louis dousing his in a nearly poisonous amount of vinegar as Harry scrunches his nose in response. 

“Now now, Styles. Don’t judge a boy by what he puts on his chips.” Louis scolds with a quick kiss to Harry’s nose as they continue to wander.

There aren’t any bands playing Harry’s particularly interested in tonight, throwing away his plate as he helps Louis eat the last bit of his fries. The vinegar is so strong it makes Harry feel a little sick but Louis loves it so he doesn’t say anything.

They continue walking, Louis’ arm looped in Harry’s as they try and take it all in. Of course taking it all in means having a few beers (Harry’s lost count), talking to people they’ve never met, and going to listen to bands they’ve never heard of while singing obnoxiously loud and swinging their hands about like idiots. 

Harry’s head is buzzing and he’s so dizzy with the alcohol pumping through him the only thing that he can focus on is Louis. Everything is loud and chaotic but Louis is pressed into his side and he’s so warm and it takes every ounce of strength within Harry not to pin him to the ground right then and there.

“Has Leeds been everything you dreamed it would be so far, Mr. Styles?” Louis asks, his words slurring together and he’s giggling, a lazy finger tracing the outline of Harry’s face.

They’re walking back toward their campsite hopelessly lost, Louis’ arm draped across his waist as Harry laughs at his gentle touch. “That tickles, Louis!” Harry cries but he’s effectively shut up when Louis kisses him soundly, pressing him up against a tree, some bits of bark digging into his back but Harry could care less about that, really.

“Yeah, Mr. Tomlinson, it is.” Harry breathes against Louis’ lips as he hears him make a small noise in response.

“Don’t - call me that, you arsehole,” Louis gasps between kisses and Harry grins as Louis pulls away, still holding onto Harry’s hand as they continue down the pathway. 

There’s a fair bit of stumbling, Louis gripping Harry’s waist tightly, leaning into him as they laugh at dumb things, ridiculous things Harry can’t remember anymore. 

“I like you a lot, y’know that? You’re strong. Keep me in place. Can hold me up.” Louis’ words are being strung together but Harry doesn’t care as he nods slowly.

“Like an anchor?” He blurts out, the image floating in his mind as Louis pauses, blinks.

“Yeah. Like an anchor. You’re so smart, Harry.” Louis taps his nose and Harry would scold him except for the fact that his cheeks are flushed and he’s grinning so big and he’s so cute that all Harry can do is laugh quietly in response.

They continue walking, Louis now moving on to complain about how his feet are sore and how he wants to crawl into bed and sleep until next week (Harry doesn’t remind him that their tent has yet to be set up) when it happens.

A small drop of water falls onto his forehead and Harry pauses, dread filling him as Louis falls quiet now. Another drop falls, then another, and another followed by a clap of thunder as Harry groans. 

“Fucking great. It’s _raining_ ,” he whines and he expects Louis to make a noise of agreement, but he’s greeted with the opposite.

“Our first thunderstorm together, Haz! Isn’t this perfect?” He’s practically bouncing around, all past pains about his feet gone as he pulls at Harry’s hands. “It’s the perfect summer night! I’m with you! It’s fate, Harry Styles, it’s fate! It’s fate it’s destiny it’s me you and the rain!”

“Big believer in fate are you?” Harry rolls his eyes as the rain continues to come down harder now, pounding against his back.

“Fate is a friend of mine, Harry Styles. It brought me to you.” Louis’ voice is no longer loud, but more serious as he stands in the middle of the path, mud on his shoes and hands on his hips.

A clap of thunder and roll of lightning goes off above them and Harry can feel his shirt beginning to stick to him because it’s fucking raining but he can’t take his eyes off of Louis. But Louis is just grinning and they’re both soaked and they don’t even have their fucking tent set up but yet Harry doesn’t want to move.

All he can seem to do is take a few steps toward Louis, feeling the ground sink under his weight as he brings his hands to gently cup Louis’ cheeks, hearing Louis inhale sharply as he does so. They stay like that for a while, in each other’s space, Louis’ hands fisted at both sides of Harry’s waist, pulling him closer.

Harry leans down, pressing his lips to Louis’ own and can almost hear the sigh of relief. His lips are wet and his hair is sticking to his forehead but Louis is kissing him back and Harry can’t really focus because his world is spinning. 

It’s like no matter how much he tries, he can never get enough of Louis. Can never get enough of his ridiculously loud voice, his terrible jokes, or the way he can’t seem to stop touching Harry’s curls when they’re together. 

“Fuck,” Louis mutters, pulling away as Harry tries to think of what he could’ve done wrong in that moment. “We haven’t set up the tent.” 

Harry laughs now, a loud laugh that he’s sure could wake anyone sleeping around them, as he puts his hand on his stomach to help steady himself. Only a few hours into their Leeds experience and they’re soaked to the bone and standing in the middle of a thunderstorm with no tent and all he can do is laugh.

He brings an arm around Louis’ shoulders, smelling the rain and beer he presses a faint kiss to the side of his neck. 

He’d almost said I love you in that moment, but stopped himself for some reason. 

“How do you feel about rain now, Styles?” Louis asks, waggling his eyebrows as Harry smirks.

“A little better I suppose...” he teases, pinching Louis’ side as he hears him yelp in response.

Yeah, okay, so perhaps thunderstorms aren’t all bad.

\--

“Are you done with your mug then?” Harry blinks out of the memory, feeling disoriented as he looks up to see Ben hovering over his table.

“Yeah, thanks mate.” He mutters and ignores the look Ben gives him before going back toward the front desk as Harry bites his lower lip.

That was six years ago, the reminder hits him suddenly as he takes in a deep breath. Six years ago when he was eighteen and Louis was twenty-one, right when everything was new and exciting. He lets his mind wander for a moment, wondering what Louis is doing, if it’s raining where he is. 

But the moment passes and Harry forces himself to stand, putting his book in his bag as he puts his hood up over his head. He gives a wave to Lou, who gives him the same sympathetic smile as he hears the small bell of the door go off as he closes it behind him.

The five minute walk back to his flat feels far longer, his mind reeling and heart feeling heavy as he pushes open the door. He half expects to see Louis in the kitchen, eyes puffy from lack of sleep and bundled up in his favourite sweat pants and Harry’s old college sweatshirt. But instead he’s greeted with a grey kitchen area, empty and faintly lit by the curtain-drawn window. The rain is still falling as he sets down his bag without a second thought, his coat being thrown down on top of it as he falls down onto the couch.

He’d left the TV on, some middle-aged woman talking about making the perfect loaf of homemade bread as Harry pulls out his phone. He opens his messages to the same name, the same blank conversation as he takes in a deep breath.

Harry hasn’t heard from him in almost two months. He has the right to send a text message, doesn’t he? They were together nearly seven years. He has a right to know.

_It’s raining._

For some reason he’s expecting a reply within the first minute, almost as if he’d been spending his days look at a blank text message he hasn’t built up the courage to send.

It’s during a toothpaste commercial his phone buzzes.

 _i know_ is all it reads. At least he hasn’t changed his number. 

_Still a believer in fate then?_ he isn’t sure why he’s asking this, why he’s even texting him now.

 _brought me you didn’t it ?_

Harry chews his lower lip, his throat feeling tight as he tries to type out a reply. _Some would argue it took you away from me._

There’s no reply for a few minutes, and Harry knows he shouldn’t have even replied. It’s just, he’s been craving Louis for two months. _Two months_. Two months of an empty bed, empty flat, everything is empty without him around.

His phone buzzes again. _I have a hunch._

He has half a mind to call him right now or get on a train and look for him, try and find him, but instead he stays on his couch, stays in his empty flat.

_What kind of hunch?_

The lady is now talking about the necessity of whole grains when he reads his reply: _you’ll find me in the end . isn’t that how it always works out ?_

He’s listening to the importance of sunflower seeds as he shakes his head, noticing he has an unheard voicemail as his brows furrow. It’s an unknown number, he realizes as he waits for it to begin to play.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Styles, my name is Greg James and I’m calling you on behalf of Harbour and Sails Publishing Company, I’m not sure if you’ve heard of us.” Harry feels a small smile tug at his lips, of course he’s heard of them. They’re only the biggest publishing company this side of London. “And well, I’m holding in my hands a bit of your works, a resume of yours, and a few other transcripts from your school and I must say I’m rather impressed with you. Mostly why I’m calling is to see if you would like to meet with me sometime next week, talk about possible job opportunities we could open to you. Give me a call back at this number -” Harry scrambles from the couch to get a pen and piece of scrap paper, scribbling down the number like a lunatic. “And we can talk more then; I was hoping Wednesday around 2 o’clock. I hope to hear from you, Mr. Styles, have a good rest of your day.”

There’s a dial tone as Harry looks down to the piece of paper, swallowing as he quickly shoots of a text to Niall asking him if he’s free to come over later as he collapses once more onto his couch, wondering what the fuck he’s going to do now.

\--

“You alright?” Lou asks him the next day as they’re setting up for the morning.

“M’fine. Why?” He can smell the fresh batch of blueberry muffins and regrets not eating something before leaving his flat.

She doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, counting the till as Harry instead goes to unlock the door for anyone awake and needing coffee at the god awful hour of 5:30 am. She gets like this sometimes, Harry reminds himself, worrying unnecessarily about him. 

As he begins writing on the chalkboard, listing the soup of the day she takes one of his hands into her own. He says nothing, surprised at how small her hand is now in his own, completely encompassed by him as she shakes her head lightly.

“Do you remember when you first started here? Your little hands were so small you could barely take out the muffin trays in the morning without burning yourself,” she says after a moment, laughing quietly at the memory. “Yet you were determined to get all the pastries done if that meant burning off a limb.”

“I couldn’t deny the public their morning pastries, Lou,” Harry replies, puffing out his chest in a ridiculous attempt at Superman impersonation. 

She had taught him everything he knows. In the mornings it had been the two of them going through recipies, Harry trying to remember each one as well as make sure not to burn the ones already baking in the oven. It had been stressful and the oven room had always been far too hot, but for some reason Harry loved it. Loved being by himself, creating and making things on his own in that room. 

“I got a job offer,” he blurts out finally, his mind still stuck with his sixteen year old self in the back room baking cranberry apple muffins as he glances up from the small chalkboard now.

Lou nods slowly, a small smile coming to her lips now. It’s a mixture between pride and sadness, Harry notices as she releases his hand. 

“What kind of job?” she asks, voice wavering slightly as Harry sees small tears begin to form in her eyes.

“A publishing job at a company, I haven’t even replied to the job offer yet - Jesus, don’t get all weepy on me now yeah?” Harry extends a tissue toward her which she accepts, waving her hand toward him in an attempt to get him off her case.

“You should take it, Harry,” she speaks up, putting the till back and closing it as Harry leans against the counter.

“Trying to get rid of me are you?” he asks, attempting to sound offended as he does so.

“Stop that,” she scolds, and Harry laughs quietly. “You’ve outgrown this place. I don’t want it holding you back.” 

Simple, to the point, blunt. As she’s always been with him.

“I don’t know. I’ll think about it.” He pauses to press a kiss to the top of her head. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some muffins to check on.” 

The back door swings open and Harry tries to ignore the way her words repeat through his mind, how they sound so very familiar to him. He knows why they’re so familiar, why they sit so uncomfortably with him.

Because they’ve been said to him before. Because this isn’t the first job offer he’s had with a publishing company.

But instead of letting himself remember he starts on another batch of banana nut muffins and listens to the bell of the front door going off as people begin filing in.

\--

His alarm’s blaring but all he wants to do is go back to sleep. So instead of pulling himself out of bed he pulls his comforter closer, hoping somehow that’ll diminish his need to go to work. 

“Lou,” He mumbles into his pillow, voice low and throat scratchy. “Lou, it’s your turn to make tea.” 

But there’s no reply. Usually he would’ve gotten a kiss to his forehead, or a tickle to his side to wake him up. So he moves his toes in search but he’s greeted with a cold left side of the mattress. Harry opens his eyes, blinks through the sleepy haze as he sees the other side of the bed empty. This happens sometimes, Louis gets restless and gets out of bed to watch tv or read a book. But that doesn’t happen unless he’s desperate, and his side of the bed is usually still warm by the time Harry wakes up to find his side of the bed a tangled mess of sheets.

Instead he finds the other half of the bed made up, sheets tucked in and pillow straightened out as Harry takes in a deep breath. _It’s fine_ , he tells himself as he pushes back his own covers, putting on his slippers as he makes his way into the kitchen, _he’s probably in the shower_. But there’s not water running. In fact, there’s no other noise in the flat.

“Louis?” he calls out, hoping and praying to get some sort of response. But there’s nothing. Just the sound of cars outside and the worries repeating through his mind. “Louis, this isn’t funny.”

It isn’t until he he reaches for the kettle does he see it. The envelope, placed between the kettle and the toaster as Harry swallows thickly. That can’t be a good sign, that can’t be a good sign of anything. 

He stares at it for a while. At least a good ten minutes until he reaches for it. His name is written on it, in the writing he knows more than he knows his own as he flips it over. It’s sealed shut, meaning whatever is written on these pages is set in stone, isn’t going to change. He wonders if Niall’s awake and willing to drive ten minutes to come and open this envelope for him, but Harry also knows how ridiculous that would sound.

He’s twenty-three for fucks sake, he should be able to open his own goddamn letter.

The thing is, he already knows what it says. 

‘ _Harry,_

_You’re asleep, probably because it’s four o’clock in the bleeding morning. I know, after all the years we’ve been through leaving you this way is a terrible way to go. Because it’s not one of those ‘I’ve found somebody else’ or ‘I don’t love you anymore’ type of reasons. It’s the opposite, actually, if I’m being honest with myself._

_I love you, Harry. I love you so fucking much that sometimes when I look at you it feels like I can’t breathe, like my chest is caving in and I’m drowning in you. And I know you love me just as much, you always have, Haz._

_And I think that’s the problem. That I love you too much. And it’s keeping you from doing something with yourself, from building a life for yourself. I don’t want to be the reason for that. I don’t want to be what’s holding you back._

_You’re so talented, Harry, did you know that? Sometimes I find myself watching you in the living room at your computer, eyes puffy and tired but yet alight with something I rarely ever see in you. Inspiration. It doesn’t happen all that often but I always remember when it does. It’s like a part of you comes alive and your fingers type like crazy and it’s all I can do but stop myself from kissing you all over and telling you how proud I am of you._

_I wanted you to take the job. I know it’s in the city and I know it’s new and far from the life you’ve built for yourself but it’s where you belong. Doing what you love and being recognized for it, Harry._

_I love you. I love you I love you I love you I love you. I loved you the minute you introduced yourself to me, all curls and ridiculous smiles and I love you now as I leave this note. I love you but I have to let you go, Haz. I have to let you grow._

_And honestly, I don’t know if I’ll ever love anyone again. Because sometimes you’re just made to love someone, you know?_

_And I firmly believe I was made to love you._

_Always in my heart, Harry Styles.  
Yours sincerely,_

_Louis._ ’

He stands there, unable to move. The morning light is coming through the curtains, bright and illuminating the room as he takes in a deep breath, unsure of what to do with himself. 

He doesn't know if he should laugh or cry at first. Because it’s not that Louis doesn’t love him anymore, or that he’s moved on, it’s that he still loves him. God, Louis still loves him and yet he still left. 

He stands in the kitchen for awhile, calling Lou to tell her he can’t make his shift, hand still gripping the letter as he does so. Even after he hangs up he stays like that, feet firmly on the ground, as if it’s all a dream. As if he stays like this for long enough Louis will be back, Louis will be back and it will all just be a terrible nightmare.

But the thing is, Louis doesn’t come back. The flat is dark and it’s just Harry, just Harry, only Harry standing there.

From where he’s standing he can see an old sweater of Louis’ still on the edge of the couch and he wants to scream. Because Louis himself might be gone, but Harry’s still going to find little bits of him scattered all over the apartment. Sweaters and pictures, little notes of when he’ll be home from work, reminders of when Harry had once had him.

He calls Niall. It’s his first instinct, the first person that comes to his mind after Louis.

“He’s gone,” Harry says when Niall says hello, without a second thought.

“What, to get groceries? I’m not bringing you beer again, Harry -”

“No, Niall, he’s gone. He left a letter and took some of his things. He’s gone.” He doesn’t mean to have his voice so sharp and annoyed, but he can’t help it.

“Oh God, hey, are you alright? Do you need me to come over?” Niall’s voice immediately goes to worried, tender and Harry thinks that makes it so much worse.

“Yeah,” Harry croaks, the realization hitting him now as he’s talking to Niall. Realization being that Louis is gone, really gone, he’s gone and there’s nothing Harry can do about it. 

“I’ll be there in five.” Niall hangs up and Harry has five minutes to get some clothes on.

He doesn’t even know what he’s thrown on but Niall is there and Harry doesn’t say anything when he opens the door. The letter’s tucked away in his drawer and he tries not to think about it as Niall unloads his bags, revealing a large amount of beer, which Harry is thankful for. He can always count on Niall.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Niall asks and Harry shakes his head. 

“Not really, no.” Harry looks at the bar in front of him, trying to follow the lines of the countertop as Niall nods from beside him.

“Alright yeah, we can talk about something else.” Niall’s always been good for that, good for conversations and getting your mind off of anything. “How’s work?” 

Harry’s stomach lurches. Work, the coffee shop, his job offer, Louis. Niall’s face twists into a look of regret as he shakes his head, waving his hand.

“No, fuck, no you’re thinking about him again. Let’s uh - did I tell you I got my internship at that record label? Ed called me yesterday to tell me. Fucking sick right?” Niall watches Harry closely as he hands Harry his beer, Harry taking a rather large drink of his and forces a smile.

“That’s brilliant, Niall, when did that happen?” He’s trying to sound excited and trying not to think about how he can’t fucking breathe because Louis is gone.

“Yesterday morning. I start next week. Ed said he can have be trained and helping in the studio within the next month.” Niall’s grinning now as he takes a sip of his own drink now.

“Fuck, Niall, that’s going to be amazing. You’re going to smash it.” He’s speaking words but all that’s repeating through his head is _Louis is gone Louis is gone Louis is gone_.  
Niall keeps talking and Harry keeps drinking because he isn’t sure what else he should do, really. He isn’t sure what to do with this hole in his chest and he isn’t sure what to do about the fact that Louis is gone.

He keeps drinking until he can’t see straight, until he’s bursting at the seams and suddenly filled with an anger he’s sure he hasn’t felt before. But he’s angry because Louis is gone, he’s sad because Louis is gone, all he can seem to think about is how Louis is gone. How after the night is over and Niall drives him over he’s going back to an empty flat, an empty bed, empty everything. 

So he finds himself outside his flat, leaning against the wall as he feels the cool air brushing against his cheeks. He knows he shouldn’t, knows he should put his phone away but for some reason he can’t stop himself.

He dials his number, stares at it for a moment, and his call.

‘ _Hey it’s Louis, I’m not here right now but leave me a message and I’ll call you back when I can!_ ’ Harry inhales sharply, hearing his voice. It’s only been a day since he’s heard his voice but somehow it feels more like years.

“Fuck you,” he spits, swallowing as he laughs rather loudly. “Fuck you, Louis Tomlinson. Eight years, do you know how long that is? It’s almost ten years. Almost a decade. A decade, do you know how much happens in a decade? Do you know how many days that is? I don’t, fuck I don’t even want to try and figure out how many days that is because you’re gone. Because I woke up this morning after eight years to an empty side of the bed and a letter between my kettle and my toaster. Because I’m with Niall and shit, I’m wasted, I’m so fucking wasted, Louis - and when I come home you won’t be there. Remember when I’d come home drunk sometimes? You’d put a damp cloth on my head and make me tea and rub my shoulders. But now what will I do? Make tea for myself? Rub my own shoulders? Fuck you, Louis. If it bothered you I didn’t take the job so much why didn’t you _tell_ me? Drop me a line considering we’ve been together eight years and I sort of thought that maybe you’d tell me when I’ve done something to piss you off. If it was me do you think I would’ve done this? Just woken up one morning and left because you didn’t take a job offer? I wouldn’t have, Louis. I wouldn’t have left you with an empty flat and no one to come home to at the end of the day. Fuck, I’m so mad at you, Louis. I’m so mad and I’m so frustrated but yet I still love you. How is that even possible?” 

He doesn’t finish his thought. Instead he hangs up and ignores the lump in his throat as he wraps his arms tightly around himself, hugging tight as he closes his eyes tight. He can faintly hear Niall calling out his name but instead he slides to the ground, trying to steady his breathing as he feels himself drift off.

 _Louis is gone Louis is gone Louis is gone Louis is gone_.

\--

“Greg James, Harbour and Sails publishing, how may I help you?” His voice is somehow calming, Harry thinks as he leans back in his chair.

“It’s uh - it’s Harry Styles returning your call.” Harry says dumbly, silently kicking himself. He’s an author, for God’s sake; shouldn’t he be more eloquent?

“The elusive Mr. Styles! I’ve been waiting for your call. How are you?” Harry likes Greg, his voice is sincere and there’s something else about it - something Harry can’t put his finger on, but he likes it nonetheless. 

“I’m good, thanks for asking.” He’s fidgeting with the hem of his shirt because he doesn’t know what to fucking say right now. “Did you still want to meet sometime this week?”

“Of course! I know I suggested Wednesday at two o’clock, would that work for you?” He sounds hopeful and Harry doesn’t understand why because Harry’s nothing special, anyway.

“Yeah, I’m free then.”

“Wonderful! Would it be too much of a hassle to meet in the city? I have this little cafe I sometimes go to on my lunch breaks that would be perfect,” he suggests and for some reason Harry finds himself smiling faintly.

“What’s the address?” he asks and Greg gives it to him, Harry writing it down the back of his newspaper.

“Alright, Mr. Styles, I will see you then at two o’clock! I’m looking forward to it.” 

“Same to you, Mr. James. I’ll see you then.” Harry hangs up after a moment and pauses, his eyes glancing over the address again.

Wednesday, two o’clock.

He briefly reminds himself to text Niall later, tell him he’d set up the appointment. But in his little table at the cafe he looks to the empty chair across from him and pulls out his phone. Because maybe if he texts him Louis will respond, and maybe it’ll go back to the way things were. Or maybe if Harry texts him then it’ll be like Louis is right there with him, feeling the same hope and joy stirring somewhere in his chest.

Maybe.

_I have a job interview this week. xx_

There’s no response.  
\--

“Jesus, Styles, how long does it take to close up?”

Louis is tapping his foot against the leg of his stool impatiently and Harry pretends to not notice as he continues to count his till. He holds up a finger to silence Louis, counting out loud as he writes another number down onto his paper.

“I told you, it takes a while.” 

“Yes but you didn’t say _this_ long.” Louis is whining now, pouting as Harry rolls his eyes in response.

“I just need to finish counting this till and we’re free to go, okay?” 

Louis sticks out his tongue childishly in response, but surprisingly doesn't add anything else. Harry continues counting, sorting through a pile of receipts from today. But he's having issues focusing, mainly due to the way Louis is chewing on the end of his pen that sends something warm through Harry. 

But it's Louis. They're friends. Have been for almost a year now, Harry recalls. Friends that are never apart for more than 24 hours, friends that sometimes hold hands in Harry's backyard while looking at stars, friends that can't seem to get enough of one another. 

Harry might be a bit in love with Louis. Might sometimes have an overwhelming urge to kiss him, pin him against a wall and suck on his lower lip just to hear the sound Louis makes when he whimpers. That's normal for a best friend, right?

Probably not. 

Louis is still chewing on the end of his pen and Harry's lost count of his till. He starts over, quietly cursing as he keeps his focus on the bills in front of him and _not_ at the way Louis' tongue is darting in and out of his mouth in concentration. Fuck, he needs to pull himself together. 

"Have you ever kissed anyone?" Harry finally asks, Louis looking up as he blinks. 

"What?" He's watching Harry now, an amused expression on his face. 

"Just. Y'know. Have you?" It's an innocent question so Harry isn't sure why Louis is looking at him that way. 

"Do you want to kiss me, Styles?" Louis asks, amusement now turning into a grin. 

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck he should've kept his damn mouth shut. 

"I - what? I don't know. Maybe,” Harry's stuttering and oh God, he sounds like an idiot. 

"Cause you can tell me if you do..." Louis is watching Harry's every move now, shifting closer toward him now. 

Harry's trying to regulate his breathing. He shouldn't have said anything. He should've just kept counting his till. He's going to lose Louis, ruin their friendship, all because of one stupid question. And right now the idea of losing Louis is one Harry doesn't care to entertain right now. 

"I've kissed a few people, yeah. I regret most of them," Louis finally speaks up, shrugging. 

"Just forget I said anything. I shouldn't have asked," Harry says quickly, waving his hand but Louis shakes his head. 

"Admit it, Haz, you want to kiss me." Louis is grinning and Harry is finding this all rather unfair. 

"I will admit no such thing." Harry averts his gaze back to his till but Louis is still grinning. 

He's quiet for a moment, which Harry is unsure how to take. So he keeps counting. Counting counting and not focusing on how Louis is moving closer, how he's sitting directly in front of Harry now. 

"S'not fair you know," Harry mutters as he writes down another number. "Now you know what my biggest weakness is." 

He doesn't say it aloud but they both know: _it's you_. 

But before he can make another excuse a gentle fingertip comes to rest under his chin, lifting his gaze. 

"Maybe I want to kiss you?" Louis asks, voice soft with a smile still on his lips. 

Harry opens his mouth, them promptly shuts it. Because he's sure whatever he says will ruin the moment. So instead he swallows, his mouth suddenly feeling dry as he tries to steady himself. Louis is leaning in and Harry's breath catches in his throat because this is actually happening and he isn't quite sure what to do.

But Louis somehow seems to know that, smiling gently as he brings a hand to Harry's cheek, running his thumb along Harry's lower lip. It sends a shudder through him, a red hot sensation to the pit of his stomach because Louis is touching him and Harry can't seem to focus on anything but that. 

"Louis -" Harry begins but the older boy shakes his head, which he takes as a sign to not say anything. 

He's pretty sure he's shaking, uncertainty and a bit of excitement coursing through him. Louis wants to kiss him. Louis is going to _kiss_ him. Oh God, Louis is going to kiss him. 

Louis' moments are fluid, confident, as if he's been planning this for a while. Harry attempts to follow as best he can, suddenly wishing he didn’t have any limbs because they feel large and out of place. But Louis doesn’t seem to mind, leaning over the counter as Harry keeps his eyes focused as his mind races with a mantra of _Louis Louis Louis Louis Louis_ repeating through his mind.

“Just relax,” Louis says after a moment and Harry nods, though not a single ounce of him relaxes. If anything, he’s more tense.

Then in a moment Louis is kissing him and Harry can’t seem to get a moment to catch his breath because his world is spinning out of control and his eyes are closing so he can soak in more of Louis as humanly possible. How he tastes, like butterscotch and a hint of mint, how his lips so skillfully move against Harry’s - slow and careful yet still with purpose and meaning. They’re warm and soft and exactly as Harry imagined them to be and he’s sure his own are slightly chapped but apparently Louis doesn’t seem to notice. Instead he brings a gentle hand to the back of Harry’s neck, guiding him closer and Harry is like putty to his touch, helpless and pliant. 

“You’re good at this, Haz,” Louis encourages against his lips, laughing faintly and Harry’s brows furrow now.

“You sound surprised.” Harry pouts slightly and Louis presses his lips against his again, as if trying to remove the pout and Harry kisses back because, well.

He isn’t sure how long this goes on for, how long they stay like that - lips moving and learning each other, touches and caresses sending what feels like electric shocks through Harry’s system. It doesn’t seem to matter as he curls his toes in his shoes with the emotions rushing through him, how he feels like he’s floating on a cloud because he can’t seem to get enough of Louis. Doesn’t ever want him to pull away, doesn’t ever want to leave any place that Louis isn’t in.

Then Louis starts sucking on his lower lip, gently biting into the skin as Harry sucks in a sharp breath. Louis pulls away slightly at that, as if asking permission and Harry immediately presses his lips back to Louis’ as if to tell him _don’t stop, please God don’t ever stop_ and Louis complies. One of his hands comes to rest on Harry’s chest lightly, his warmth spreading across Harry’s shirt as he smiles faint against Louis’ lips.

Finally, after what feels after an eternity, Louis pulls away, wiping at his lips and Harry grins to himself at his appearance. His hair is disheveled, sticking up in odd places - shirt untucked and wrinkled, lips puffy and a delicious shade of pink and well, Harry did that.

Or he had a rather big part in it at least.

Louis takes in Harry’s appearance, which he assumes is about the same as his own, reaching his hand across the counter. He briefly wraps his hand around Harry’s, squeezing lightly as his eyes don’t waver from Harry now.

“That was good, yeah?” he asks after a moment, voice slightly raspy as Harry can’t seem to wipe his grin off his face.

“Yeah. Real good, Lou.” Harry pauses here, intertwining their fingers. “We should do it again sometime, I think.”

Louis raises his eyebrows. “Finish counting that damn till and I’ll see what I can do.” He winks and immediately Harry feels his cheeks flush as he clears his throat. 

They leave the store hand in hand that night, giggling and laughing ridiculously loud as they walk back toward Harry’s house, delirious and without a care in the world. 

\--

To say he’s nervous is an understatement. He’s fucking terrified.

He’s been pacing outside this large and unfamiliar building for the past twenty minutes, having showed up for his first day at work an entire fucking hour early. Why an hour? Because he had about two hours of sleep until his nerves woke him up and kept him awake until around 6:30 in the fucking morning when he got on the 7 o’clock train which got him to Harbour and Sails at 7:30 and his shift doesn’t start until 8:30. 8:30 to 4, as Greg had assured him on the phone. Good hours, good salary, the dream job Harry had been searching for that had somehow magically fallen into his lap.

It’s 8:05 and he’s on his second coffee of the day and he still has 25 minutes until he needs to be in the building. He could be early though, right? People come early to their jobs. Especially people who are starting a job they have no experience in. Sure, it was part of his college education but how much does that really prepare someone anyway. 

He takes a sip of his burning hot coffee, wincing at the temperature as forces it down his throat. He should just go in. It’s 8:12 when he makes his way into the building, taking out a folded piece of paper in his pocket. His suit jacket pocket, something he just recently bought because Lou informed him that he can’t wear jeans and old band t shirts to a high end publishing company. Which Harry agreed with. So he went out and bought five new suits (probably a bit excessive) and other assorted pieces of ‘business casual wear’ as Nigel had been so helpful to sell him at the suit shop. 

And now here he is, in this huge fucking building in his new suit and feeling as though he’s going to be sick because he’s had half a granola bar and two coffees to start his day. He might pass out.

‘3rd Floor, tell Mya here for first day, will be directed to Greg’s office.’

His writing is atrocious. Can someone be fired for having messy writing like his? He shouldn’t be thinking about this. What he should be doing is going into the elevator. So he takes a few steps, checking his phone as he steps into the elevator now. He’s alone, which he finds oddly comforting for the few moments of complete silence all to himself.

There’s a text from Niall: _Good luck today ! You’ll smash it ! We’ll get a pint this weekend and you can tell me all about it_. Harry smiles faintly, shaking his head. If anything he’s sure Niall can come rescue him from this city if he somehow manages to fuck up this new job.

The doors ding and Harry steps out into an unfamiliar lobby, first noticing the rather obnoxiously large ship on the carpet. Next he looks up to see who he assumes is Mya, looking terribly bored as she picks at her nails, muttering into the receiver sitting on her head. 

“I’m um - here to see Greg James?” He’s sweating, which is a realization that doesn’t sit well with him.

“Name?” Mya doesn’t look up from her nails as she raises an eyebrow impatiently.

“Harry Styles?” She nods at that, which he takes as a good sign.

“Follow me.” She stands, removing her headset as Harry follows behind her now, down a hallway and turning left, being taken to a large wooden door.

 _Greg James, Editorial Assistant_ it reads. Mya knocks on the door.

“Mr. James? Mr. Styles is here.” Immediately there’s movement behind the door and Harry’s suddenly aware that it’s only 8:22 am.

But there’s no backing out now and suddenly Greg is there, practically beaming as he offers his hand for Harry to shake. Harry accepts it as Greg thanks Mya as she walks back down the unfamiliar hallway and back around another corner and suddenly Harry feels alone again.

“Prompt, I like that,” Greg comments as Harry smiles sheepishly in response. “Why don’t you step in? I have a fair bit of paperwork for you to sign, I’m sorry to say.” Harry laughs quietly, following into his office where he’s ushered to sit down.

“How are you finding everything? Your move go alright?” The sincerity in Greg’s voice hits Harry again like a wave as he nods slowly, sitting in a chair as he watches Greg shuffle around a bunch of filing cabinets.

“Yeah, yeah it was great. Takes some getting used to I guess, y’know, the big city and all. I haven’t taken a train until this morning so that was a new experience,” Harry says. Greg laughs and Harry feels a little accomplished at that. “But it’s going well. It’s all new but it’s good, I think.” 

Greg nods, his smile still evident as he hands Harry a number of booklets, papers, and other assorted piles of paper as Harry takes in a deep breath because fuck. This is it, this is a real job, these are real job papers. As he skims over the top page he feels as though he’s going to be sick because he doesn’t understand at least half of the words in the first paragraph. 

“New things are good, Mr. Styles, I would agree with that. I know a large number of our colleagues are excited to have you aboard with us.” Harry isn’t sure what to do with that because he’s inexperienced and young which doesn’t sound like a promising combination. “Unfortunately I would love to stay and help but I have a massively large amount of phone calls to make that I’ve been neglecting. But the good news is I can show you to your new office and you can get started on the paper work and if you need any help I’m right next door.” 

He’s already making his way toward the office door as Harry attempts to collect his papers, nearly tripping once as he stands from the chair, keeping the pen on top of the mound as Greg holds the door open for him. And well, Greg wasn’t lying. Two steps later and he’s in front of another wooden door, strikingly similar to Greg’s own.

 _Harry Styles, Editorial Assistant_ , a shared title. Imagine that. He’s sharing a title with someone. His name is on a plaque. He’s not sure if he likes that, his name on display for everyone to see once he tanks this job and fails out of it. But he does like the gold, and he does like the loop in the y, it’s pronounced and prominent. 

Then again it’s just a plaque and he shouldn’t get too attached to it anyway.

“Now it’s a bit... empty, but I’m sure you can find your own way to fill it up. Books, pictures, other items you have emotional attachment too. Makes it seem less like a prison,” Greg teases with a wink and Harry smiles faintly again.

Maybe he isn’t going to fail at this, a tiny voice says inside his head, maybe he actually can do this.

He sets the papers down on the desk, _his_ desk, marvelling for a moment at the rather large windows where the morning sun is streaming in, revealing a large and unknown city. Once his eyes adjust to the light he turns back to Greg, who’s already at the door.

“Today is a day to get settled, Mr. Styles, so don’t think there’s any pressure to get anything done. I’ll be back in a little while to check on you.” 

Harry thanks him and as the door closes he blinks, eyes scanning the office again. There’s a desk, which he’s presently leaning against. And a bookshelf, empty and dark wood as he takes in a deep breath. There’s a coat hanger. He has a coat hanger, a fucking coat hanger. He isn’t even sure if he has any coats, or if he remembered to pack them. 

There’s also a mat for shoes, he realizes as his eyes continue scanning. A chair in the corner next to the shelf, he supposes for reading manuscripts and other such things. 

He rubs his hands against his face. This is his office. _His_ office. It says his name outside the door. 

Clearly he’s having issues wrapping his head around this. Mostly because just a mere two weeks ago he was at a little cafe in his small town making cranberry muffins and brewing coffee for the masses. And now he’s here, in this rather large office that he now calls his own.

But before he can bring himself into a panic attack he instead turns and sits down in his office chair, _his_ office chair, and wheels himself toward the desk. He picks up the pen, beginning on the first page of his rather large stack. He can faintly hear Greg talking in the next room, laughing and being his normal happy self as Harry shakes his head lightly.

The papers are tedious. There’s some on vacation time, pay, benefits, his duties, every and anything under the sun in the publishing world. There’s a section on ethics and even a booklet on how to work the damn photocopier. Harry’s going to mess that one up, he knows that already.

As he’s beginning to sign a paper claiming he won’t sell off or leak any of the manuscripts he will be no doubt reading through there’s a small knock at his door and Harry freezes. He doesn’t know the protocol. Does he not say anything and let the other person assume they can just walk inside? Or does he go open the door? Does he say something? Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck he’s going to get fired because he’s kept whoever is on the other side of that door out there for more than ten seconds.

“Uh, come in!” He tries to sound cheerful but mostly it comes out high pitched and slightly terrified.

It’s Greg, Harry notes with slight relief as he pokes his head in. “You’ve been hard at work in here, been nearly two hours!” Harry looks to his clock in surprise because well, it has been two hours. He hasn’t even noticed. “I was thinking we could take a break and I could show you around a bit?”

Harry likes that idea. “Sounds great.” He slowly stands from his chair, now realizing how incredibly sore his hand is from signing his signature that he’s getting rather sick of, which he didn’t think possible. Imagine that, someone being sick of their own signature.

So the tour begins. He’s first shown the break room, which is bright yellow but spacious with some sort of fancy coffee machine that looks expensive and complicated, but he doesn’t comment. Instead he follows as Greg leads him down a few more rooms, lined with cubicles and names he doesn’t know and Harry ignores the fear settling in his stomach at the fact that he doesn’t know any of them and yet now he’s one of their bosses.

“So now I’m going to show you to your assistant. Well, technically, he’s the assistant to the both of us, what with the shared title and all,” Greg begins, turning down another unfamiliar hallway and Harry’s sure he’s lost track of how on earth they got here.

“I thought that was Mya?” Harry asks but Greg shakes his head.

“No no, Mya’s just the first secretary for appointments, other stuff like that.” He’s leading Harry toward a desk as he leans against the edge of it. “Harry Styles, I would like you to meet our assistant, Louis Tomlinson.”

Fuck.

The name hits him like a ton of bricks. He inhales sharply, immediately feeling slightly dizzy as he takes a cautious step so he’s beside Greg now because it feels like the floor has been taken out from under him. He can feel Greg’s eyes on him as he grips the edge of the desk, his knuckles going white as he looks to see who he assumes is Louis Tomlinson. Maybe it’s a different Louis Tomlinson, who knows how many of them are in this goddamn city after all.

No, it’s his Louis. _His_ Louis, Harry almost wants to laugh. No longer his anymore, he painfully reminds himself.

He looks different. His hair’s different. His eyes are wide and his face is pale as a sheet, watching Harry as he swallows. He needs to keep himself together, keep himself composed.

“Do you two - know each other?” Greg doesn’t miss a beat, apparently catching the immediate tension as Harry takes in another deep breath. Keep himself together, that’s all he needs to do.

“You could say that, yeah. Friends.” The word feels like vinegar in his mouth, bitter and sour as he watches Louis nod slowly.

He has a quiff. His hair is in a goddamn _quiff_. He’s wearing a button up shirt that looks far too good on him, and he’s got a quiff.

“Harry and I go way back.” Louis adds and God, his _voice_. Harry feels like his knees could give out any second.

“Oh that’s wonderful! You’re not alone here after all, are you?” Greg clasps a hand on Harry’s shoulder and he’s sure he’s going to be sick because it’s quite the opposite. If anything, he’s now more alone than ever.

“No, no, apparently not.” Harry swallows back more words, keeping his tone civil as he watches Louis shift uncomfortably in his seat.

Greg seems unaware, laughing happily.

“Right, well, I have to get back to my calls and, Harry, I suppose you should continue with that pile of work?” he suggests, hand still on Harry’s shoulder as he guides them back toward their offices now.

“Yeah, back to my work.” Harry keeps his eyes on Louis for as long as he can until he’s back at his door, hand shaking as he turns the knob.

There’s a small click when it finally closes and he leans against the wood, sliding to the ground as he takes in a deep breath, then another, and yet another. 

Well, he’s found Louis. Problem is he still can’t have him.

\--

The thing is they’ve never really fought before.

Sure, they’ve had the small squabble here or there over ridiculous things like what movie they’re going to see or whose sweater is whose but this is different. It’s different because Louis isn’t saying anything, quietly fuming in the kitchen where he’s presently making tea. Harry’s watching him silently from his spot on the couch, uncertain of what to do.

They’ve been living together for two days and Louis is now giving him the cold shoulder, how is he supposed to react? They haven’t been living together long, about a week, and already things seem to be going downhill. 

“So what do you want me to say to Stan then?” Louis’ voice is firm, detached, as he pours himself a mug of tea. 

Harry chews his lower lip. Whatever Louis is trying to get across to him Harry isn’t catching it. He shifts on the couch, pulling a pillow to his chest as he hugs it tight. He hates this, hates that Louis is upset and he’s the cause of it.

“Dunno, that we already made plans?” Harry hears him sigh noticeably from the kitchen at that.

“What plans, Harry? It’s Friday night. Does that mean we’ll stay in with a bowl of popcorn and watch whatever shitty romantic comedy we can find?” Louis’ voice is edging on annoyed, frustrated. 

He isn’t sure what to say now. Stan is one of Louis’ new friends from uni who seems rather bent on spending time with the two of them, but Harry’s never really been one to get out out of the house, spend a night with people and having to endure small talk at whatever club they decide with loud music and sweaty bodies pressing up against him. He’d much rather stay at his flat, Louis curled up to his side while watching a movie.

“Is that not what you want?” Immediately he can see Louis’ face soften at that, sighing as he makes his way back into the living room. 

“Well I mean, it’s great, Haz. But I don’t - I don’t know, I think we should try and at least make some friends. Get the whole uni experience, y’know.” His hands are curled around his steaming mug as he shrugs lightly.

But Harry doesn’t like that. Doesn’t like the idea of having to share Louis with other people. It’s ridiculous, he knows that, but it’s true. He isn’t going to lie to himself, or Louis.

“You’ve been out with that lot three times this week already,” Harry finally speaks up after a moment, picking at the edge of his pillow.

“So?”

The question hangs in the air, as if Harry has no right to say anything. As if he can’t feel the way he does. 

“I mean, can’t I have you for one night?” Louis’ lips turn into a thin line then, and Harry knows that look. He’s just never seen it directed at him.

“Because you don’t see me often enough when we _live_ together?” Louis snaps. “I mean fuck, Harry, can’t I have friends? Can’t we have friends? It can’t be us always, you realize that, yeah? We can’t become one of those couples that only spend time with one another. You realize how boring that is?”

Harry blinks. “Oh so now we’re boring? One week living with me and already you’re bored?” 

“Harry, I didn’t mean it that way, fuck -”

“No, no, I know exactly how you meant it, Lou. Boring old Harry sitting around his flat doing his mounds of homework and working late almost every evening to pay the fucking rent. So excuse me if I don’t feel up for a round of pints.” He’s being harsh, but he can’t seem to stop.

“You think I’m not tired? You think I’m not exhausted working at that fucking restaurant after a day of classes and coming home to do more schoolwork? Fucking hell, Harry, you’re not the only one here. I mean, would it kill you to make a friend?” Louis is pushing him and Harry doesn’t understand why.

“I have Niall.” Harry’s jaw is set, tight, he’s on edge now.

“Oh congrat-u- _fucking_ -lations, you have Niall. One friend. That you’ve known since you were two!” Louis’ sarcasm sends him over the edge as Harry stands, tossing the pillow rather harshly into the couch.

“Not everyone is outgoing and charming as you are, Louis. Not _everyone_ can walk into a room full of people and have everyone adore them in under ten minutes. Have you ever thought of that?” 

“You can change, Harry. People change. I mean, fuck, look at us! We’re in our own flat, we’re going to school, we’re supposed to be making friends. Why can’t you just put yourself out there? Just this once?” Louis is still sitting, watching him and having forgotten about his tea on the table in front of him.

“Why are you pushing this?” Harry crosses his arms over his chest, feeling backed into a corner as Louis pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Because you never want to do anything! Because sometimes I feel trapped in this flat and sometimes I feel trapped with you, Harry. God, I love you, you _know_ I love you but don’t you get sick of the same thing day after day?” Louis is getting louder now, wanting to get his point across.

Harry laughs. He laughs, the sound out of place in the tense and angry moment, though it’s sarcastic and he knows that. He laughs and he watches Louis cross his own arms, standing as he makes his way down the hallway and toward the door.

“Where the hell are you going?” Harry rushes toward him as Louis pulls on a sweater, taking his set of keys from the bowl by the door.

“If you’re just going to sit here and laugh at me, not listening to a word I’m saying, I’m going to leave. if you want to know where I am, you can text Stan.” 

Harry opens his mouth to say something; maybe apologize, but the door’s closed as he’s left with his hands in his pockets.

And well, fine. If Louis is going out, Harry will be fine on his own. He’s got popcorn and some movie Gemma lent him. He doesn’t need Louis, he doesn’t need anyone. He’s fucking fine on his own.

That is, until it’s 1:27 in the morning and Louis isn’t home. He’s in the kitchen, been there for about an hour, cleaning and moving about in hopes that any moment the door will open and he’ll be home. It doesn’t happen. In fact, his phone has no texts, no missed calls, and he’s beginning to panic. But Louis is fine. He knows that, he just would like to know _where_ he is.

And so, begrudgingly, at 1:32, he picks up his phone, scrolling through until he finds Stan’s number in his contact list.

_Stan! It’s Harry. Any chance Louis is with you?_

Short, to the point. Also desperate, but Harry ignores that bit.

He gets a reply within the minute. _Haryr ! Were at Lola’s YoU sh ould COMEEE_

So clearly they’ve been drinking. He sends a reply that he’ll be there in a few minutes, taking his coat as he looks up directions and makes a point of taking his keys as he locks the door behind himself. He knows Louis probably doesn’t need to be saved, but he’d rather be the one who takes him home. If he’s even been drinking. He doesn’t know why he’s going, probably because this is their first big fight and he isn’t really sure what else to do with himself standing in his kitchen like an idiot.

Finding Lola’s is a bit of a challenge, to say the least. The streets are lined with people and it takes him a good fifteen minutes to find parking, now just past 2 am as he gets out of his car. There’s shouts and exclamations, people stumbling and Harry hopes and prays that they haven’t left Lola’s because trying to find Louis right now would be a bit ridiculous. 

He spots the sign. It’s neon pink, flashing with people stumbling out of it as he makes his way toward the door. He just needs to find Louis, that’s all he needs to do. But the music’s loud and the amount of people in this enclosed space makes it feel like finding a needle in a haystack. 

Not too mention the last time he was here he had been dragged one Thursday evening, Louis forcing him with Stan and a few other faceless people he can’t remember. He pushes his way past people, moving and swaying to the music as he scans the crowd as he best he can. This is ridiculous. It’s warm and he’s almost certain there’s a bit of throw up on the floor as he makes his way toward the bar.

That’s when he hears it.

“Harry!”

It’s Louis.

He turns to see Louis grinning, cheeks flushed and his sweater he’d put on abandoned God knows where as he’s pointing a finger toward him now.

“You’re. Here.” Louis has clearly been drinking, swaying as he takes a small step toward him. 

Harry’s there in a moment, at his side as he takes Louis’ hand into his own. Louis is leaning into him, burying his head into Harry’s neck as he sighs with what Harry takes as relief. 

“M’still mad at you, you know,” Louis mumbles, giggling as he nips at the skin of Harry’s neck. 

“Been drinking, yeah?” Harry teases, smirking as he pushes some hair from Louis’ forehead. “Thought you’d come home and wake me up with your loud drunken self?”

Louis pouts, shaking his head. “Why don’t you ever want to come out with me, Harry? Are you ashamed of me?” 

The words hit Harry in a funny way, a way that makes him uncomfortable as he takes in a sharp breath. Louis’ pout has turned into a frown now as he brings a finger to lightly poke at Harry’s cheek now.

“Louis, God, Louis, _no_ , how could you ever think that?” He’s sure the disbelief in his voice is evident.

“You always want to stay inside. You never want to go out with me. Movies and popcorn and that fucking couch that isn’t even comfortable,” Louis responds, playing with Harry’s fingers absentmindedly as Harry swallows.

“Terribly true, I’m afraid.” He pauses as Louis blinks at him. “The couch bit. It’s rather uncomfortable.” 

He brings a hand to Louis’ waist, guiding him toward the bar as he takes in a deep breath. They probably shouldn’t be having this conversation when Louis is this drunk. But he needs to say something.

“Don’t want you to leave me is all,” Harry admits after a moment, voice softer as he laughs faintly, more so at himself. “You’re quite the charmer you know.” 

Louis shakes his head. “It’s always you, Harry. You know that.” He’s tracing the outline of Harry’s lips with the pad of his fingertip as he speaks now.

“I know that, Lou. Just sometimes I forget, is all.” He pauses for a moment, taking Louis’ hand that’s currently tracing his jawline as he intertwines their fingers lazily, smiling faintly as he does so. “So what do you say, can I take you home or are having too much fun?”

Louis giggles once more, shaking his head. “Take me home, Mr. Styles, I’m all yours!” His voice is loud now as he waves his arm, Harry laughing as he shakes his head lightly, keeping his arm around Louis’ waist as he pulls him close.

“You should tell Stan yeah? So he doesn’t worry.” Harry kisses the shell of Louis’ ear as he nods in agreement.

“Oi! Stan! I’m leaving!” He’s preoccupied with some blonde girl presently, but he gives a wave of acknowledgement as Harry leads him out to the car. 

\--

He’s not avoiding Louis, per se.

Well no, he’s avoiding Louis. For the past three days he’s kept himself in his office, leaving only to go to the bathroom, heat up his lunches, and ask Greg questions. Every so often Louis will call his phone, telling him of a meeting or if he has a phone call, but other than that there’s hardly any contact. But he’s civil, borderline friendly with Louis.

Presently he’s looking over a manuscript that is quite frankly, terrible. However as Editorial Assistant he has a certain number of manuscripts he has to read each week, and he’s finding that’s something that’s more time consuming than he’d been anticipating. He rubs his eyes, taking a sip of his now cold tea as he turns another page. 

There’s no depth, no character growth, there’s no _point_ to it really, he thinks to himself. But how does he tell that nicely to the hopeful author awaiting his call? 

He’s halfway down the next page when there’s a small knock at his door. It’s probably Greg asking him if he’s seen his pen, one that he seems to misplace every other minute as he clears his throat.

“Come in!” He’s mastering the voice of ushering people into his room, something he’s embarrassingly proud of.

He’s about to tell Greg he hasn’t seen his bloody pen when he’s surprised to see who’s standing there. It’s Louis, smiling sheepishly as Harry says nothing, staring dumbly.

“Hi,” Louis begins somewhat awkwardly, “I was wondering what you were doing for lunch today?”

Harry pauses. He thinks briefly to the small container of stir fry he’s got tucked in the staff fridge as he shrugs in response. “Just, y’know. Some leftovers.” 

“Right, of course. It’s just I was wondering if you’d want to get some lunch with me? I mean we have an hour so...” Louis trails off, sounding almost hopeful as he does so.

And well, he wasn’t expecting that. His mind is reeling for an excuse, for something that would be plausible instead of ‘well no I don’t want to have lunch with you since you left me nearly four months ago’ so he opts out for, “I have a lot of work to do, is all. Would love to catch up though.”

Louis smiles faintly, knowingly. Harry was always a terrible liar when it came to Louis. “I think you can take an hour for yourself. I’ll see you here at 12:30 yeah?” Before Harry can refuse the door’s closed and sort of stuck in the excuses department at this rate.

When 12:24 rolls around Harry’s searched and tried every plausible excuse humanly possible but none of them stick. He even resorted to searching lethal illness able to be accumulated in less than six hours but all he could come up with were poisonous spider bites and the chicken pox. Neither of which he could use, at this rate. 

So instead he stands from his desk in defeat, putting his phone and wallet into his pocket as he slides on his suit jacket. A work lunch, the idea is still foreign to him. Mostly because the idea of ordering eating and paying for an entire meal in less than an hour seems nearly impossible. Especially with Louis. Because he’s about to have a work lunch. With Louis.

It’s 12:28 when he steps out of his office, going over to Greg’s office as he taps on the door.

“Come in!” Greg’s cheery voice greets him as Harry opens the door slowly. “Ah, Harry! Everything alright? Saw you read through two manuscripts this morning, I’m rather impressed.”

Harry laughs quietly, nodding. “Yeah, two down and a whole pile to go,” Greg nods sympathetically at that, so Harry continues, “I’m, um, I’m going out with Louis for lunch, if that’s alright?”

Greg’s face brightens significantly at that. “No, no, that sounds great! You two go, have fun, reminisce and all that. I’ll hold down the fort.” 

“Thanks, Greg,” Harry says but Greg waves his hand, as if to say it’s no big thing as Harry closes the door, suddenly feeling rather sick as he turns to see Louis behind him now.

“Shall we?” he asks, motioning in front of him as Harry forces a small smile.

“Suppose so,” he replies, ignoring the way Louis’ face drops just slightly in response, the two walking down the hallway in silence.

Louis takes Harry about a block and a half away, to a small cafe tucked between two rather large buildings. He’s rambling about how he found the place, though truthfully Harry isn’t really listening as they step inside. It’s mostly empty, a few scattered people throughout as he takes in a deep breath. It’s just lunch with Louis, it’s just Louis, he reminds himself as he follows the waitress leading them now to their seats.

She puts them at a small table in front of the large bay window, two chairs as they’re sitting across from one another now. Harry removes his suit jacket, hanging it on the edge of his chair as Louis opens his menu, scanning it as he rubs the back of his neck. He’s nervous, Harry realizes as he watches him shift in his chair.

Well, of fucking course he’s nervous. This isn’t exactly enjoyable for Harry either. 

“The turkey club here is really good,” Louis finally says after a moment, as Harry glances to his own menu now.

Eight years together and all Louis can talk about is a fucking turkey club sandwich.

“Not really a fan of turkey,” Harry says in response, keeping his eyes downcast as he does so.

“Oh yeah. I, um, forgot,” Louis replies softly and that makes a small pang go through Harry’s chest, because Louis’ forgotten something about him. Makes him wonder just how much Louis has forgotten about him.

“How have you been?” Harry doesn’t want to ask, but he feels like he should. 

Louis doesn’t answer for a moment, a contemplative silence between them as he closes his menu. “Fine. You know, busy with work and all that.” 

_All that_ , Harry thinks to himself with a bitter laugh. Mostly because he doesn’t know when they became like this. All distant conversations and emotionally detached words.

“So that’s why you left? Because of this job?” Harry asks finally, the question burning in his mind the minute Louis had asked him to lunch.

“You know the chicken club here is good as well, if you wanted to give that a shot.” Louis doesn’t answer the question. He also doesn’t meet Harry’s gaze.

“I don’t care about a fucking chicken sandwich Lou, I asked you a question.”

Louis clears his throat, though his face makes no sign of emotion as the waitress introduces herself to them now. Her name is Perrie and Harry still isn’t listening because he knows exactly how this lunch is going to play out. Louis will ignore his questions and instead deflect with other small talk about the publishing company, his job, Harry’s job, anything but the topic that Harry really cares to talk about.

“Can I get you some drinks to start?” She’s a lovely girl, Harry thinks, bright and cheerful but he really doesn’t have the patience for this right now.

“Water would be great, for the both of us,” Harry responds quickly, though he watches Louis blink in response.

“Actually I’d love some iced tea,” he pipes in, almost as if challenging Harry now.

But Perrie doesn’t seem to notice. “One water and one iced tea then. Are you two ready to order your lunch now as well?” 

Harry swallows as he hands her his menu, not having taken a proper look at it. “I’ll have a chicken club sandwich with a side of the soup of the day and he’ll have -”

“The same,” Harry interrupts as Perrie grins again and God, she’s just so damn cheerful, isn’t she?

“Two chicken club lunch combos coming right up.” She walks away with the menus and Harry’s beginning to see the frustration begin to settle on Louis’ features now.

“How’s your office?” Louis finally asks, breaking the silence as Harry looks up at him in near disbelief.

“You really want to know how my office is, of all things?” His voice is sharp, tone challenging. 

Louis leans back in his chair, still not meeting Harry’s gaze as he looks out the window. As if Harry should be the one apologizing in this moment, as if this is somehow all his fault. But Harry doesn’t look out the window, doesn’t look away from Louis now.

“Yeah, Harry, I want to know how your office is. And your flat. I want to know how you like your job and if those manuscripts I brought you were interesting.” Louis responds, voice tired and strained.

He’s mad. He’s mad because Harry isn’t sure what Louis _wants_ from him in this moment. Doesn’t know what he’s trying to get at, what he wants Harry to say.

“Well, since you’re so goddamn curious, my flat’s great. It’s fancy and chic, as the realtor called it, and it’s high up so I have a great view. Fucking fantastic, right? And my job is great, all I’ve ever dreamed of. I wake up in the morning, have my toast, take one train and I’m at work. Brilliant, innit? And those manuscripts you brought me this morning were lovely, thank you, how very kind of you to think of me whilst going through the stack of them this morning.” He’s being purely sarcastic and Louis knows this, laughing in a way Harry can’t quite read. “But mostly I want to know why the hell you took me out for lunch today and I want to know why you left, Louis. Because I’m not sure if you remember that day, you know, leaving me after eight years of being together.”

Louis doesn’t have a moment to respond because Perrie’s returned with their drinks and surprisingly their food, distributing it as both of them thank her quietly. She looks to Harry briefly, with an expression that reads unamusement as Harry looks to Louis then, not saying a word as she walks away, leaving the two of them alone now.

“Cause isn’t this what you wanted for me? A new job, a new flat, a new everything? Leaving Lou and my family and moving to the great big city where all my dreams can come true?” He’s being harsh, he can see that in the way Louis’ face contorts with each of his words.

But surprisingly, Louis doesn’t say anything at first. Instead he takes a sip of his iced tea, pressing his lips into a thin line that Harry knows all too well.

“You were right.”

Harry pauses, brows furrowing as he shakes his head. “What?”

“I don’t like iced tea.” Louis adds, spinning his straw in his cup as he laughs again, the same laugh Harry can’t decode. “Just didn’t want you ordering for me, I suppose. Like things were back to the way they were.”

The way they were. Harry wants to scream, to do something drastic to try and get Louis’ attention and fucking _look at him_ from across the table. Of course he wants things to go back to how they were, how could he not?

“They can’t go back to how they were, Harry, you do realize that?” Louis’ words are firm, decided. “That’s why I left. That’s why I left you that note and that’s why I didn’t return your phone calls. Because if things go back to how they were we’ll get stuck again.”

Harry doesn’t like that word. Stuck. 

“We had a good thing, Louis.” Here Louis finally looks at him, finally meets Harry’s gaze.

“Tell me about the manuscripts I gave you this morning. What ones did you read?” He’s changing the topic again and fine, he’ll entertain Louis this time.

“I only read two of them, and I hated them both,” he says simply, hoping this satisfying Louis’ curiosity.

“Why?” Louis presses.

“They’re boring, dull, I don’t know. They don’t have any depth, like the author has no real point to writing the story.” Harry’s getting more frustrated, jaw tight as he looks right at Louis now. 

Louis nods, and Harry continues, “They’re well written, I mean, they have _potential_ , but they haven’t used that. Why would I want to publish a novel with no point to it?”

Louis seems satisfied at that, taking a bite of his sandwich while Harry’s remains untouched. He hates that Louis is being cryptic, asking questions that he doesn’t care for when they only have fifteen minutes to get back to the office.

“Sounds about right,” Louis replies after a moment, his tone genuine as he glances to his watch. “Should probably start heading back yeah? Don’t want you to be late.” Harry doesn’t have a moment to protest because suddenly Louis is standing and Perrie is bringing them their bills and packing their remaining food away.

“Did you not like it?” Perrie asks as Harry glances to his takeaway boxes. 

“Oh uh no, it was great. Just wasn’t too hungry, I suppose,” Harry replies and Perrie nods, seemingly convinced.

They each pay their separate bills, carrying their boxes as they walk back toward the office. There’s a silence between Harry can’t decide if he likes or not, if it’s one of he feels comfortable with. Mostly because he essentially told Louis exactly how he was feeling, exposed himself and his emotions and all Louis did was asking him what fucking manuscripts he liked. Not only that but they’re not heading back to an office where they work, together, and Harry just really wants today to end.

Because four months ago he would’ve done anything to have this. To have Louis near him, talking to him. Though Harry isn’t sure if that’s any better, having Louis at a distance. Being able to see him without being able to touch him, kiss him, things he was so accustomed to doing after eight years.

It’s like he has Louis back, yet he doesn’t at the same time. They’re worlds apart now, and it’s so painfully apparent to him now. 

“You changed your hair.” Harry comments finally in the elevator, making their way up to their floor.

Louis smiles sheepishly, bringing a hand to pat the top of his messy quiff. “Yeah, needed a change I suppose.” He clear his throat before glancing to Harry once more, briefly. “D’you like it?” 

Harry’s a little surprised at that, but tries not to show it. “Looks great, Lou.” He says finally, forcing a small smile. “Really great.”

He’s not positive but he’s pretty sure he can see a bit of a blush begin to colour Louis’ skin then, starting at his neck and almost reaching his cheeks as the elevator doors ding open. He decides against commenting on it, instead following Louis as they make their way back to their office, giving Mya a wave as they do so.

“Bye, Louis.” Harry taps the top of Louis’ desk.

“Bye, Harry,” Louis replies and there’s something in his voice Harry can’t quite read as he heads back into his office, closing the door behind him.

\--

He’s pretty sure the photocopier is the Devil himself sent to torture and ruin him, his career and everything else he holds dear. He’s been attempting to print something for the past twenty minutes and all that will come out is a blank page, and he’s nearly certain he saw smoke coming from it about five minutes ago. But instead of calling for help he’s standing in front of the damn machine like an idiot pressing a random combination of buttons in a pathetic attempt to get his page printed and copied and on Greg’s desk before 11 am. It’s 10:47.

Mostly he doesn’t want to ask Louis, who has been nothing but kind and helpful for the past few weeks and truthfully, it’s starting to piss Harry off a considerable amount. For example the other day, he couldn’t figure out something on his word document program and Greg was busy with a client Louis had stepped in, quite literally. Harry had been at his desk when Louis had come to stand beside him, which usually isn’t a problem. Except for this time he’d been hunched over and certainly not standing the appropriate office co worker distance when he’d pressed himself into Harry’s side, beginning to sort out the issue.

Needless to say with Louis so close smelling like expensive cologne and an odd hint of mint Harry had found it hard to breathe. Not too mention the fact that Louis was being all charming and making jokes, trying to not let Harry feel like an idiot because his problem was so easily fixed. 

So to avoid that happening again, he’s going to fix this all on his own with no one’s help. Especially and most importantly, not Louis’.

“Need a little help?” A voice comes from behind him, oddly familiar to him.

Harry turns to see a man behind him, holding a small stack of papers and fuck, he’s gotta get this done because it’s 10:52 and he’s got someone waiting to use the machine next. 

“I’m um, fine. You know.” Harry attempts to sound calm, but instead he sounds about as stressed as he feels. 

The other man smirks and Harry sighs in defeat. “I have no fucking clue what I’m doing.” That was probably unprofessional, but the other man doesn’t seem to mind.

“How many copies do you need?” he asks, glancing to the pad as Harry runs a hand through his hair.

Harry pauses, counting briefly in his head. “Six.” 

He nods, pressing a few buttons and within moments Harry’s being handed the six documents he needs. 10:57. 

“Thank you -” Harry extends a hand for him to shake.

“Zayn, Zayn Malik. Publicity Assistant.” Harry quietly curses because he’d just met him the other day. “It’s ok if you’ve forgotten, there’s a lot of names to remember.” He winks and Harry feels a little more at ease.

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” He briefly shakes Zayn’s hand, repeating the name through his head a few times to make sure it sticks. 

“I’m sure you will, Mr. Styles.”

“Call me Harry, please.” Harry finishes with a smile before walking out the door, making his way toward Greg’s office because he’s pretty sure he’s missed his deadline by at least one minute now.

He knocks on the door, surprised there’s no response right away. However a few moments later Greg’s calling him in as Harry opens the door, surprised at the scene before him.

There’s a slightly disheveled Louis to the left of him, Greg adjusting his tie as Harry blinks. Louis rubs at his lips, adjusting his quiff as Harry looks between them. He doesn’t want to jump to conclusions but it’s pretty damn obvious the two of them weren’t discussing manuscripts. Or discussing anything, really. Suddenly feeling rather out of place he clears his throat, putting his small pile of papers on Greg’s desk.

“Your uh, copies. They’re a minute late so, sorry about that. Won’t happen again.” He’s backing out of the room and suddenly very aware of Louis watching his every step as he does so.

“Right, well, make sure it doesn’t happen again!” Greg’s laughing nervously and Harry is almost certain he’s going to be sick.

“I um, I have some phone calls to make, I think. And you know, read manuscripts. Do my job.” Oh God, he needs to get out of here.

He doesn’t stay to listen to their hushed words being exchanged as he closes the door, the short distance to his own door feeling terribly long as he rubs his hands on his face. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck, what the hell did he just walk in on? Well, he knows what he walked in on. Eight years is long enough to know when someone’s lips are raw, puffy and that same ridiculous shade of pink. Except Harry was the one who used to do that to Louis, used to leave him breathless and wanting more.

Although apparently now that’s not the case.

_And honestly, I don’t know if I’ll ever love anyone again. Because sometimes you’re just made to love someone, you know?_

_And I firmly believe I was made to love you._

The words repeat in his mind as he leans his arms against the desk, feeling dizzy as he tries to take in a few deep breaths. He needs to calm down, needs to focus. Needs to think about work instead of how he’d nearly just walked in on Louis and Greg snogging in his office. Oh God, oh God it’s happened, he thinks with a sense of dread and horror. He’s lost Louis. He’s lost him to some big wig Editorial Assistant with expensive suits with a nice car and well put together life, someone he could never be.

But before he can do anything else, there’s another knock at the door. For a moment he briefly considers how much effort it would take to jump through his window but instead he calls the person in, standing up from his desk and straightening out his shirt.

_Pull yourself together, Styles. You knew this was going to happen eventually._

“Harry?” It’s Greg, he realizes with horror. “I just wanted to come and talk to you, briefly.”

He’s thankful to see Louis isn’t behind him as he closes the door, just the two of them. 

“About what?” He tries to keep his tone friendly, calm, as if he’s not about to fucking lose it.

“Uh well, you know, that unprofessional exchange you had to witness. Or, nearly witness, I’m not really sure. But you’re a smart boy, Harry. Sharp. You’re not stupid.” Harry wonders if a staple to the head is a good enough excuse to leave work.

“Well, I’m flattered, but it’s fine, Greg, honestly.” He’s hoping this will end this conversation and Greg will leave, but that doesn’t seem to be working to his dismay because Greg is still here and looking like he has something to say.

“I don’t want to you feel uncomfortable in the office, and I don’t know what happened there, really. I just - can I be frank with you?” Greg’s so earnest that Harry can’t say, can’t seem to think of any sort of excuse to get him the fuck out of his office now.

“Of course, Greg, but are you sure you want -”

“We’ve been seeing each other on and off, Louis and I. And I should’ve told you but I didn’t want to, you know, overwhelm you, or something.”

 _Overwhelm is an understatement_ , Harry thinks to himself.

“I have, shit, I have a huge pile of work to get back to but I wanted to make sure that for now? We’re okay?” He looks so genuinely worried that Harry’s going to say no.

“Yeah, we’re fine,” Harry forces the words out, forces them to sound sincere. 

For a brief moment he’s worried Greg can see right through him, can see the insane amount of emotions running through him in that moment. But instead he claps his hands, practically beaming as he clasps Harry’s shoulder briefly.

“Brilliant! Brilliant, I knew you would understand, Harry.” He says something about owing him big time before closing the office door as Harry buries his face in his hands because, well.

He understands, he understands all too well what it means to be completely enamoured by Louis Tomlinson.

It’s lunch he’s the most worried about, honestly. Worried that somehow he’ll get stuck between Greg and Louis at the lunch table unable to escape. So he waits until the coast is clear before making his way to the break room, slipping his pathetic lunch into the microwave.

“Busy day?” Harry jumps slightly at the voice, turning to see a sympathetic Zayn at the table.

“Something like that.” Harry laughs quietly, Zayn nodding in response.

“Heard you and Greg are getting slammed this week with the deadlines for manuscripts.” 

“Gotta have five books picked by the end of this week with contracts signed and drafts ready to be sent not long after. So you know, nothing too big to worry about,” Harry jokes lightly, the timer going off as he pulls his container from the microwave.

“Sounds easy enough.” Zayn’s smiling and Harry makes his way toward the small table as Zayn motions toward an empty chair beside him now.

“How long have you been working here?” Harry asks, taking the lid off and wincing at the heat as he does so. 

“Two years. Or, two years next week,” Zayn replies. “Though I had an internship here all through college so that helped things along.” He adds with a small shrug as Harry nods.

Their conversation carries on for a while and well, Harry decides he likes Zayn. He’s quieter but has a sense of wit Harry can appreciate. It’s nice, meeting someone that isn’t like Louis with years of history and complication, someone who knows him where he’s at right now.

“You’d like my mate Niall then, he’s into music producing. Just started a new job, actually.” Zayn perks up at this, the conversation having turned to what kind of music they enjoy - Zayn’s taste the exact opposite of Harry’s.

“Really?” Zayn asks, suddenly distracted as Harry’s brows furrow. He follows his gaze, pausing when he spots what he’s almost certain Zayn’s got his eyes on.

It’s Liam, he realizes, pushing the mail cart in front of him. Liam the mail guy. Harry smirks, taking another bite of his lunch.

“So, Liam?” His question sends Zayn into a coughing fit halfway through his sip of water as Harry holds back a laugh. “You’re painfully obvious, mate.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Zayn’s staring at his food now, refusing to look up as Harry winks toward him.

“Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. But for what it’s worth, I think you have good taste.” This solicits a napkin being tossed at his head, which he’s sure he deserves. 

Unfortunately 1:30 comes too soon and Harry finds himself back in his office where somehow his pile of work has gotten _larger_. As he opens a manuscript to re read he wonders briefly what Lou’s doing, how she’s handling the lunch rush. Somehow that part of his life feels so far away, even though it was only a month ago. 

There’s another knock at his door and Jesus Christ, can’t he get a moments peace around here anymore?

“Come in!” he calls and the door opens to reveal Greg with two coffee cups in his hands as Harry blinks.

Greg brought him coffee. 

“Greg! I thought our brief meeting was at 2:30?” Harry asks, suddenly worried that he’d written down the wrong time.

“No no, that’s still at 2:30,” Greg assures him, handing him a cup as Harry takes it.

He reads the side: a triple half sweet no foam hazelnut latte, his usual. Which Greg has only brought him once prior to this, and that was to beg and plead him to work one weekend so they could get a few manuscripts read through.

This is a bribe in the form of a latte, Harry thinks to himself as he sits down in his chair, Greg mirroring him from across his desk.

“So what’s, uh, what’s going on?” Harry asks, a thought crossing his mind now.

Oh God, what if Louis told him? About them? About their whole eight year escapade and now he’s here to drill Harry about it? Harry’s palms are beginning to sweat slightly, his suit suddenly feeling quite stuffy as he takes a sip of his latte.

“I just, I wanted to ask you some things. About Louis.” 

Fuck. 

“What about him?” he needs to stay calm and fucking breathe is what he needs to do.

“Well it’s just that from what you saw earlier today I was wondering if you could give me some information, on Louis.” Out of all the ways Harry saw this conversation going, this was certainly not one of them. “He’s a bit of a closed book, and well, I don’t know. I thought you could have some information I could possibly get out of you.”

“I don’t know how much help I can be,” Harry lies, but Greg doesn’t seem convinced.

“I’ll take whatever you can give me, honestly. I know this is terribly unprofessional and all that but I think I really like him, Harry. Might possibly even love him, as cheesy and awful as that sounds.” Greg’s smiling this ridiculous smile Harry knows all too well.

Because the thing is, Harry understands. He understands what it is that Louis does to a person, an unsuspecting person and their unsuspecting heart. Because there was a time when Harry could wake up to Louis pressed to his side, breath coming out in little puffs with the morning light. Times when Harry could swear he couldn’t breathe when he looked at Louis, couldn’t imagine what his life would be like without him there. 

Because there was a time Louis was his. Nights where he’d run his hands through Harry’s hair, whispering ridiculous things to him like how much he loves his curls, how terribly fond he is of him, of how he can’t imagine waking up to anyone else in the morning. Times when Harry would be stressed because of school and Louis would kiss his temple and bring him a cup of tea and Harry wouldn’t feel alone.

He was better with Louis. He hates to admit it, but he was a better person, a better everything. Louis made him better, and without him Harry knows he doesn’t shine as bright. Because that’s what Louis does, makes people better. And once someone gets ahold of that light they don’t want to let it go, let them go.

And he sees that in Greg. A desire to hold onto Louis, to keep him. Which was what Harry had been missing, he realizes in that moment. He hadn’t fought to hold onto him, hadn’t realized when Louis had been slipping away from him. Because you don’t just leave someone after eight years for something as small as turning down a job offer. You leave them because of something else, something bigger.

Harry doesn’t know what that is. Doesn’t know what it was that sent Louis out the door, and suddenly he feels like he can’t breathe. Eight years and he doesn’t know why Louis left.

“Harry? Harry, are you alright?” Greg’s concerned voice brings him from his thoughts as Harry blinks, forcing a smile.

“M’fine, sorry, got distracted.” He leans back in his chair, tapping his foot as Greg nods. “So what is it you want to know about Louis?”

“Anything, Harry, I’m begging you at this point and it’s rather embarrassing that I’m doing so but I need something.” Greg really likes him, and it’s so blatantly obvious he wonders how he hadn’t seen it before.

“You just, you need to let him come to you. He’s like a deer in that sense.” It’s a terrible analogy but he continues anyway, “I don’t think you need to worry about anything,” Harry assures him, the tightness in his chest getting worse.

“You really think so?” 

Harry nods, sincere. “Yeah. I really do, Greg.”

He’s smiling again and Harry briefly wonders if his cheeks ever get sore because when _isn’t_ he smiling, really. 

“Thank you, Harry. Honestly. This all terribly untoward and unprofessional but I trust you.”

Harry grips his pen at that, suddenly becoming rather tense. “Anytime, Greg, honestly.”

They shake hands again and Greg excuses himself, reminding Harry of their meeting at 2:30 before closing the door. And standing in the middle of his office it starts feeling smaller, like the walls are caving in and he’s got nowhere to go. So instead of continuing on his manuscript he opens the door, not even looking toward Louis’ desk as he makes his way down a hallway. He needs somewhere safe, somewhere unlike the men’s room where anyone like Greg or Louis could just wander in to witness his meltdown.

He opens a door to one of the three supply closets, thankful to find it empty and dark as he turns on a light and promptly closes the door. This is better, he thinks to himself as he leans his forehead against the cool metal of the shelf. He can breathe here.

Somehow he’s imagining Louis going into Greg’s office, asking him how the talk had went, what Harry had said. The image makes his stomach turn and he’s breathing heavily again, squeezing his eyes shut tight because that’s who Louis turns to now, he turns to Greg. 

But before he can do anything else the door opens and he takes in a sharp breath, coming up with a string of excuses as he turns around to find none other than Louis standing in the doorway, looking terribly uncomfortable and out of place. They don’t say anything, Louis watching him as he closes the door. Harry’s suddenly aware of how dim the little light is hanging from the ceiling, barely illuminating Louis as he takes a small step toward him now.

This is different than earlier, by his computer. The air is charged with something, something Harry hasn’t felt in so long.

Louis stays quiet, tentatively bringing his fingertips to Harry’s temple. He’s suddenly very aware at how close they are, how Louis’ breath is warm against his cheek, how it’s been so _long_ since Louis has touched him.

It brings an ache through him, one that makes his breathing uneasy, biting down on his lower lip as he shakes his head.

He knows what this means, what Louis is trying to tell him.

_I’m sorry. I’m so sorry._

Harry shakes his head again because he doesn’t want Louis’ apology, doesn’t deserve it. “Don’t,” Harry says sharply, taking a step away and out of reach. “don’t fucking do this, Louis.”

“I told him not to do it,” Louis breathes, voice trembling slightly. 

“You know what I realized? When he was talking?” It’s Louis’ turn to shake his head now in response. “I don’t know why you left. I mean I _know_ why you left but I don’t know the whole reason. I mean what kind of person is with someone for eight years and doesn’t notice when they begin to lose them? I mean fuck, Lou, it must’ve been going on for awhile hadn’t it? All of the buildup and the frustration. And a part of me is mad because you could’ve told me, yet the other part of me keeps telling me I should’ve known.” 

Louis takes a step toward him but Harry holds out his hand, needs to keep the distance between them. Because he can’t fucking _think_ when Louis is that close to him.

“I lost you. God, do you hear that? _I_ lost you. Me, I’m the one who let you go. Do you know how long I wanted to blame you when I woke up that morning and you were gone?” He laughs bitterly now, running a hand along the back of his neck. “Because I couldn’t face the truth.”

“What truth is that?” Louis finally speaks as he takes another step toward Harry now and for some reason he doesn’t stop him.

“That you were gone long before you took that bag and left.” 

Louis doesn’t say anything, doesn’t argue, which Harry thinks is worse because that means it’s true. He takes in a shaky breath, holding out his hand once more to keep Louis away but he doesn’t seem to notice. Instead Louis takes his hand, pressing his lips to the palm of it as Harry shakes his head once more.

_I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry._

His willpower is crumbling the closer Louis gets and he hates himself for it. Hates that Greg is sitting in his office right now, most likely thinking about Louis and a wave of guilt rushes over him. But in this moment Louis is his, all his, and Harry can’t get enough of that feeling.

Harry can feel Louis’ hands coming to rest on either side of his waist, gripping at the fabric of his shirt as he slowly lifts himself upward. Then, slowly, tentatively, he presses his lips to Harry’s and he can’t focus on anything else but _Louis Louis Louis_. It’s a kiss Harry isn’t used too, filled with apologizes and a sort of desperation that leaves him breathless and somehow wanting more all at once.

He doesn’t know what this means, what Louis wants, but right now he doesn’t really care. It’s somehow familiar and unknown all at once, like he’s relearning Louis.

“Yeah, you need staples too right? I’ll grab those and oh, shit -”

Immediately the two of them spring apart, breathing heavily and adjusting shirts as Harry looks to see a slightly stunned Zayn staring at them, blinking in what he assumes to be disbelief.

“Marvin, I have to uh - I’ll talk to you in a few minutes.” He hangs up his phone, still not taking his eyes off of Harry and Louis now.

“We uh, we were talking. Y’know. Just. Talking.” Harry tries to explain but his head is still clouded and trying to process what just happened.

“Right. Talking.” Zayn repeats, nodding slowly. “I’m going to try the other supply closet, they have better staplers anyway...”

Harry and Louis make small noises of agreement, watching him go as Louis makes his way toward the door now.

“I. I’ll see you later, Harry.” he says before walking off down the hallway and once again Harry finds himself alone in the supply closet.

\--

“So you can have those mock ups for me by Monday?” Harry asks as he steps outside of Zayn’s office, Zayn not too far behind him.

“Yeah, probably a little after lunch if things go alright. If you need any changes you’ll have to let me know before then,” he pauses here, looking to Harry pointedly. “However, if you try to talk about work tonight I will most likely ignore you.”

Harry laughs at that, nodding. “So 6:30? At that place -”

“Pickerings. Trust me, you’re gonna love it. There’s some local band playing that I think your friend will like and if we hate them, well, we can always get trashed.” Zayn shrugs and Harry likes the sound of that.

“I was thinking we could add invite someone else, you know, even out the numbers,” Harry begins, his eyes now following someone walking down the line of cubicles. 

Zayn freezes, gripping Harry’s forearm as he shakes his head. “Don’t you fucking _dare_ , Styles or I swear to God -”

“Liam!” Harry ignores the high pitched noise Zayn makes in response as the other man turns, a look of confusion on his face as he does so. “It’s Liam, right?” 

“Yeah, and you are -”

“Oh, how silly of me! Harry Styles? I think we were introduced last week -”

“Right, Editorial Assistant. I remember.” Liam’s seemed to relax a bit more, smiling faintly as Harry decides against looking in Zayn’s direction.

“Good memory you’ve got there. Say, it’s Friday night and I was wondering what you’re doing to kick start your weekend.” Kick start, Harry repeats in his mind, at least he’s not the one trying to get into Liam’s pants at this rate.

“I um, y’know. I have a few plans,” Liam says. Harry’s not convinced.

“Well here’s the thing, Liam, I think you’ll have a lot more fun if you join myself and my friend Zayn for a few drinks, that sound alright?” It’s a little ridiculous how Liam’s face _brightens_ at that. “You and Zayn are friends, yeah?”

“No, we’re friends. If he’s alright with it I mean I’d love to come,” Liam replies. Harry turns to look at Zayn then, eyes wide as Zayn smiles nervously.

“Alright by me!” he calls out, voice cracking as he clears his throat, waving as Liam is rather noticeably grinning now.

“Wonderful! We’re meeting at Pickerings, hope you’ve heard of it, and we’ll see you there at 6:30 so don’t be late!” Harry’s walking away from him now and returning to Zayn. “See? All sorted. All you had to do was ask.”

He doesn’t respond when Zayn mutters a string of curse words and a few rather violent ways in which he’s going to murder Harry later on, instead he grins and ruffles his hair. 

“Now Niall isn’t the only new guy. I was just looking out for Niall, Zayn, Jesus.” Harry winks at him and makes his way toward his office as he opens the door, pausing when he steps inside.

Louis is standing there, looking through his bookshelf as Harry closes the door. He’s too engrossed in whatever he’s looking at to notice, his eyes trailing along a few pictures he’s set up throughout the past few weeks. There’s one of him and his mom outside him and Louis’ first flat, her eyes are puffy from crying and Harry’s kissing the top of her head. Another of him and Gemma, who's holding him in a headlock one summer ages ago when she’d caught him sending dirty text messages to her boyfriend. The next is of him and Niall after their first football match together, sweaty and dirty but yet somehow still smiling. 

“Can I, um, can I help you?” Harry asks finally, breaking the silence as he watches Louis jump slightly in response.

“Sorry, oh God, you weren’t here and I saw some pictures so I thought I’d take a look.” His voice is quiet, unsure.

Harry smiles faintly. “S’fine. I was just talking to Zayn about mock ups for a few book designs.” He sets his folder down onto his desk before leaning against it now. “Everything alright?”

Louis nods, smiling sheepishly. “I just, dunno. I wanted to see how you were.” 

“You mean since you kissed me a few days ago in a supply closet?” Harry finishes, an eyebrow raised as Louis looks away then, taking a few steps toward the window.

A little too blunt, Harry tells himself as Louis says nothing for a moment. He laughs quietly, a bit sadly, Harry thinks, with his hands in his pockets. For a moment it feels like they’re back in their kitchen again, back to one of those Saturday mornings when he’d wake to find Louis reading the paper and drinking his tea in the morning light.

“Something like that, I suppose.” Louis gives him a look then, one that reads annoyance, as he sighs quietly. “I haven’t told Greg yet,” he admits, running a fingertip along the edge of Harry’s filing cabinet now.

“Why not?” Harry presses as Louis shrugs.

“I think I’m still trying to figure out what it meant to me,” he says finally, avoiding Harry’s gaze as he speaks now.

And, well, Harry doesn’t quite know what to say to that. Because he knows what the kiss meant to him, that much he’s sure is obvious. 

“Do you know what you said to me, in your letter?” Harry notices Louis flinch a little at that before nodding. “You told me you couldn’t see yourself loving anyone else, that you were _made_ to love me.”

Louis keeps his eyes fixed on the filing cabinet and for some reason Harry doesn’t need him to look at him. He just needs him to _listen_ to what he’s saying. And he’s listening, Harry knows he is.

“You don’t love Greg.”

The words stay in the air for a while, as if Louis is searching for some sort of excuse, some sort of argument to prove Harry wrong.

“You’re right.” Louis looks to him briefly, eyes tracing over his features before turning back to the shelf of pictures. “But I suppose a part of me wants to love him.”

“So that’s it? You’re just going to let Greg continue believing that you love him?” Harry’s tone is bordering impatient as Louis takes in a deep breath.

“Are you going to tell him?” Louis doesn’t answer his question.

“No. It’s your life now, Louis. You’ve made that pretty clear.”

Louis opens his mouth at that to say something but there’s a knock at the door. Harry calls them in as Greg takes a step into his office and immediately he can see Louis tense.

“Harry I - oh, oh God am I interrupting something?” There’s suspicion in his voice as he glances between them now and Harry shakes his head.

“Not at all. We were just going over my meetings for next week is all, nothing too exciting I’m afraid. Everything alright? I was going to leave in a little bit.”

Greg seems to brighten at that, all suspicion wiped from his voice as he hands Harry a few folders and stacks of papers. “I wrote some proposals for next week that I thought you might like to look over, but you don’t have to worry about those for Monday.” Harry takes them as he sets them on his desk.

“Any plans for the weekend?” Harry asks finally, beginning to clear up his things as Greg nods rather excitedly at that.

“Actually I do! Going out for dinner with Louis then we’re planning on seeing that new movie, the horror one about a cabin in the woods, or something along those lines.” 

Harry’s eyebrows raise at that as he glances to Louis now. “Funny, I always thought you hated horror films?” 

Louis forces a nervous sort of laugh.

“I’ve always liked them, Harry, don’t be ridiculous,” he lies, giving Harry a look of warning he knows all too well.

Harry pretends not to notice the subtle way Louis presses into Greg’s side, or the way Greg’s arm immediately wraps around his waist in response. Instead he focuses on the fact that Louis Tomlinson had just admitted to liking horror films. Louis, the boy who one night hid under a blanket and refused to come out for the entire duration of Donnie Darko when Harry and Niall had forced him to watch it with them. Louis, who had gotten sick at another movie at the cinema so badly that they had to leave halfway through and take him home.

Louis, who apparently now has had a change of heart. Funny that.

“Well, you two have fun. I’m getting a few drinks with a friend so I’ll see you all on Monday!” He’s taking his suit jacket off his chair as Greg and Louis make their way to his door now.

“See you Monday, Harry. Great work this week, truly. You’re a champion.” Greg grins, Louis giving him a small wave.

It’s 6:29 when he arrives at Pickerings, his mind still preoccupied with his previous conversation with Louis still repeating through his mind as he pushes open the door. It’s different than what he had been expecting, a little more formal than what Zayn had described. There’s a dining area which is already rather full with guests, his eyes trailing until he finds the bar near the back. Immediately he spots a familiar head of blonde hair and grins to himself.

“Niall!” 

“Took you long enough, Jesus, Harry, I’ve been sitting here for ten minutes by myself,” Niall mutters before pulling him into a quick hug, “This place is _fancy_ , are you sure we’re at the right bar?”

“Yes, though I’m a little surprised they let Harry in wearing a ratty Iron Maiden t-shirt,” a voice behind them says and Harry turns to see Zayn as Niall laughs happily.

“I like him already,” Niall announces, standing to shake Zayn’s hand.

“Zayn, this is Niall; Niall, this is Zayn. Now all we’re missing is -”

“Liam!” Zayn cuts in and Harry can already himself relaxing, Niall sitting back onto his stool as they begin to order their drinks.

Fortunately Liam to fits right in, sitting beside Zayn and adding to the conversation regularly. And Harry likes it because Zayn’s quiet demeanor evens out Niall’s rambunctious attitude, Liam’s odd sarcastic comment causing the group of them to erupt with laughter. They’re a bit loud, Harry will confess, but he’s enjoying himself far too much to notice.

“This band is shit,” Niall says between sips of his third beer now, Zayn laughing from beside Harry.

“Their name is Polka Dotted Love. I should’ve guessed they were going to be terrible.” Zayn laments, shaking his head as Harry nudges his shoulder.

“You’ve no one to blame but yourself.” He catches Liam grinning at that which sends a small a small burst of pride through him.

The band is singing some song about summer beaches and pina coladas and Harry’s having issues not laughing as he buries his head into Niall’s shoulder to muffle the sound. It’s not until the third song of their set does Zayn elbow his side lightly.

“Hey, isn’t that Louis?” he asks, voice hushed as Harry pauses, mouth suddenly going dry.

“Where?” Zayn points in the direction of the dining area and, well, he wasn’t lying.

They’re sitting at a table near the edge of the seating area, seemingly wrapped in some sort of conversation as Greg pours Louis some more red wine. Louis looks stunning, Harry thinks to himself, in the soft light. It’s not long until he notices Greg’s fingertips intertwining with Louis’ across the table which doesn’t sit well with Harry. Neither does the way their feet intertwine under the table, or the way Greg can’t seem to take his eyes off of Louis. Not that Harry can blame him.

“Mate, you alright? You’re white as a fucking ghost.” Niall’s looking at him with concern and Harry just laughs in an attempt to lessen his worry.

“M’fine, you know me. Just don’t do well in enclosed spaces,” Harry replies lamely, which quiets Niall down as the band continues to play.

But he can’t seem to stop _looking_ at them is the problem. Every so often Zayn will clear his throat and Harry will snap out of it, but he can’t seem to help himself.

 _Tell me how Cabin in the Woods is, yeah? Though you might want to bring a pail or something, considering how you were the last time we took you to a horror film.....xx_

It’s about thirty seconds before Louis reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone as immediately his brows furrow. For a moment he looks up, looking for Harry, but by some miracle doesn’t spot him at the bar before tapping out a reply.

_Mind your own business, yeah ? Besides , aren’t you out for drinks with your friends anyway ?_

_I’m having them right now, actually. Enjoy your steak and red wine xx._

Immediately Louis’ head snaps up from his phone once more, eyes scanning until they settle on Harry sandwiched between Niall and Zayn at the bar where immediately his expression drops. Greg takes notice of this, turning and following his gaze until he too finds Harry and Zayn as his face brightens.

“Fuck,” Harry breathes, Zayn glancing to him as he notices Greg motioning them over.

“Harry, what the fuck -”

“We can’t not go over there now, we’ll just look like assholes,” Harry hisses as Niall leans over, glancing to Harry in confusion. “Niall, you remember Louis, yeah?”

Niall nods slowly, cautiously. “Are you fucking alright? Of course I do why the hell -” But Harry holds a finger to his lips as Niall shuts his mouth once more, glancing toward the dining area where Zayn is motioning now.

“Care to explain why Louis is holding hands with some lunatic waving at us?” Niall asks finally as Zayn just shakes his head.

“You’re a bloody idiot, you know that right?” Zayn mutters angrily as Harry gives Greg a small wave and forced smile, “You’re going to take us all down with you.”

Harry doesn’t say anything in response except apologize to Liam as they leave their drinks to approach the small table where Greg has a look of utter surprise on his face. 

“Niall! Come all this way to see me have you?” Louis winks at him and Niall laughs, pulling him into a hug.

“Ah, this is the famed Niall?” Greg interjects as Harry smiles faintly, shaking his head.

“Don’t let him hear that. You’ll inflate his ego more,” Harry teases as Niall makes a noise of protest, reaching out to shake Greg’s hand now.

“After putting up with him for as long as I have you learn to live with it,” Niall jokes and Greg laughs lightly at that.

Harry decides against meeting Louis’ gaze, instead stands on the edge of the conversation now. He knows Zayn is looking at him, mostly because they still haven’t discussed on the scene he walked in on the other day in the supply closet and he’s most likely trying to figure out what the hell is going on.

But Harry doesn’t want to talk about it, not yet. He doesn’t want to talk about the way Greg’s hand is still intertwined with Louis’ own across the table, talking with Niall about his internship while Zayn and Liam are talking about God knows what, really.

“Well, I’d love to stay and chat, but we have a movie to catch,” Greg says apologetically, slowly standing as Louis follows suit.

They say their goodbyes, Louis and Niall taking a little while longer as Greg goes to get their coats. If anything, the night isn’t a total disaster. Zayn and Liam are glued to each other’s hips, Harry notices, as Louis and Greg make their way to the door. He doesn’t look at their hands intertwined still as they walk, nor does he watch as Louis stands on his toes to press a quick kiss to Greg’s lip before they’re out the door.

He doesn’t think about it. Instead, he goes back to the bar where he tries to clear his mind. He listens to his friends around him discuss the politics of concert etiquette as the band drones on in the background.

\--

On Monday, Harry makes the executive decision to work from home. Which is something he is having issues wrapping his head around; that he can do that. Greg had been completely fine with it. “Enjoy your day!” he’d encouraged when Harry had called him that morning, “You can even wear your pajama pants and no one will know.”

So he’d done exactly that.

Presently, he’s sitting on his bed, editing Greg’s proposal with a mug of tea on his night stand, wearing nothing but pajama bottoms and some old sweatshirt from uni. The words are faded and there’s a hole in the right sleeve, but Harry likes it. Reminds him of home.

After the proposal, he has to email Zayn and tell him how thrilled he is with the designs, because they’re fucking brilliant. He’s a genius, Harry had decided when going through the pictures Zayn had emailed him. There had been a postscript tacked onto the end: _Liam asked for my number. Wants to have coffee with me this week ;)_ and Harry had grinned because, well. Their night out had been a success. He briefly considered taking up a side career in matchmaking, but that dream quickly faded before he’d finished his morning coffee. One success story is enough.

Niall had asked Harry a number of questions after their brief encounter the other night, and Harry had been completely honest because it’s Niall and he can’t hide anything from him. 

“So you’re both fucking up,” Niall had said, walking alongside Harry as they made their way down the street toward Harry’s flat.

“Something like that,” Harry agreed, hands in his pockets.

“You two’ll figure it out. You always do.” And that’s the thing about Niall that Harry misses the most: his constant and true optimism. 

“If not, I always have you, right?” Harry had teased, and Niall rolled his eyes before pulling Harry into a hug.

“You’re stuck with me, Styles. There’s no getting out of it.” 

He’d missed Niall. He’d missed him a lot.

So he sends Niall a text asking how his day’s been before climbing out of his bed, making his way into the kitchen as he turns on the kettle. The list of things he needs to do keeps growing in his mind and a part of him wants to curl into his bed and sleep until next week. It’s so quiet in his flat that all he can seem to focus on is work, something to fill his head and diminish the silence.

He supposes that’s the downside to working from home. It’s quiet, it’s just him, there’s no one else around. It reminds him just how empty his flat is. It’s easier when he’s coming from from work, exhausted and worn out the moment he steps in the door, and it’s different on the weekends because usually he has something to do like get groceries, visit his mum; things that get him out of the flat.

But today it’s just him. 

So he makes his fifth cup of tea before deciding to relocate into the living room, stationing himself on his couch before opening his laptop again. Six new emails in twenty minutes, he reads with a small groan.

He pauses when his phone goes off. 

_I’ve been wandering your flat complex for about twenty minutes and if you don’t tell me what number you are someone’s going to call security on me ._ it’s Louis.

Harry pauses, re-reading the text a few times to make sure he’s understanding it properly. Louis is in his building trying to find him. _412_ , he replies as he glances to the door. A part of him begins to panic as he stands, picking up odd bits of trash and clothing scattered throughout his flat. He hasn’t a minute to wonder why Louis is coming to see him when there’s a knock at the door.

His palms are sweating, he realizes as he makes his way toward the door. He hasn’t showered. He’s wearing a sweater he’s almost certain he hasn’t washed in a solid week as he opens the door. 

“Hi.” 

“Hey.” Harry’s staring at him, unsure what to do with himself.

“Can I - come in?” Louis says after a moment, still in his work attire, Harry notes, as he opens the door wider.

“Yeah, course, Christ, sorry,” he apologizes. Louis smiles faintly before stepping through the door and into his flat.

There’s an odd silence between them for a few moments, Harry watching Louis step into his flat. It’s weird, Harry decides, considering how long they had lived together. There are no traces of Louis here. 

“It’s nice. Suits you,” Louis speaks finally, forcing the same small smile as he turns to Harry. “Bright.”

Harry blinks, glancing to the windows where light is streaming through and nods slowly. It also doesn’t help that he hasn’t had any time to paint, the white walls adding to the brightness feature.

“I’m on the fourth floor,” Harry says. 

Louis laughs at that, a reminiscent sort of sound. “You hate heights,” he replies with a look of sympathy. 

Harry nods, taking in a deep breath as he leans against the wall, not taking his eyes off of Louis. “What are you doing here?” 

Louis must have seen this question coming as he swallows, wrapping his arms around his waist as he glances to the countertop, gaze not meeting Harry’s.

“I, um, I left the movie.”

Harry licks his lips, not saying anything in response. 

“I couldn’t handle it. There was so much screaming and I thought I was going to be sick so I just got up and left.” His voice is beginning to break but Harry doesn’t move, stays right where he is. “Greg followed me out and I told him the truth.”

“That you hate horror movies?”

“That I’m still in love with you.”

Harry inhales sharply at that, not expecting it as he feels his heart beginning to pound within his chest. He says nothing.

“Because you were right, Harry. I should’ve been honest with Greg the moment you walked into that office. I should’ve told him our history. Instead, I had to do in the middle of a movie theatre after sitting through forty-five minutes of a horror film I didn’t even want to see and God, you should’ve seen his _face_. It was like I had just ripped his heart from his fucking chest.” His hands are balled together, still wrapped around his small frame. “So I told him. And, honestly, I thought he was going to yell and scream at me and I don’t know, fire me, or something dramatic. But you know what he did?”

Harry doesn’t know, so Louis keeps talking.

“He listened. He didn’t interrupt me. He just stood there, taking in everything I had to say. Like a fucking saint.”

So, Greg knows about them. He also knows that Louis is still in love with Harry. 

“Greg loved you, Lou,” Harry says after a moment. Louis nods sadly as he takes in a shaky breath.

“I know. But I couldn’t - Harry, I couldn’t love him. It didn’t work. I tried for months, y’know? Thought maybe that someone new would help me forget you, show me that I could finally move on. And who better than Greg? He’s kind and wonderful, he’s everything anyone could ever want. Except me.” His eyes are still downcast, the same sad smile on his lips. “Trying to love Greg only showed me that I can’t properly love anyone but you.”

Harry watches Louis closely now, watches how his thumb continually traces small circles into his side, how he’s beginning to tremble slightly.

“We were together for _eight years_ , Harry.” 

Harry nods. “I’m aware.”

“I didn’t know who I was anymore, Harry. It felt like I couldn’t be my own person without you by my side. It was suffocating.” Louis sighs, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again. “I had to get out. Had to figure out who I was. You can understand that, can’t you?”

“I think so,” Harry says slowly. 

“You aren’t saying anything.” Louis is watching him now and Harry laughs.

“To you coming in here and saying you love me after everything you put me through?” Harry asks, incredulous. He sees the surprise on Louis’ face at that. “I mean, God, Louis, you paraded around that office with Greg, and how was I supposed to feel? How was I supposed to react to my boss and receptionist coming into my office and telling me about their dinner dates? How was I supposed to say anything when you’d failed to mention the little fact that we’d been seeing each other for eight years?”

It’s Louis’ turn to not say anything, so Harry continues.

“It’s not _fair_ , Louis.”

“You want to talk about being fair?” Louis interjects. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

“What the fuck,” Harry’s arms tighten around himself, “is that supposed to mean?”

“Did you even read the letter I left you?” It’s the first time he’s mentioned the letter, Harry realizes as he presses his lips togethers.

“So this is about the first job offer. God, Louis, can’t you let it _go_ already? It was a good thing I didn’t take it because this job is twice as good, have you ever stopped to think about that?” 

“This isn’t about a fucking job offer, Harry, this has never been about that job offer. The job offer was what made me see so clearly what was wrong, what had been wrong for so long,” Louis says, and then stops. Harry nods for him to continue. “I wanted you to take the job because I wanted you to do something other than get up at four o’clock in the fucking morning and work in a coffee shop with no real prospect, no real future.”

“So Lou has no future? Is that you’re saying? She’s not going anywhere?”

“It’s her _business_ , Harry, for Christ’s sake. She has a husband and a child waiting for her when she gets home, she has a life to claim for herself. But what did you have to claim at the end of the day?” 

“You.”

Louis closes his eyes for a few moments, as if anchoring himself as he shakes his head. “That’s it, Harry. That’s exactly it. Can’t you see that?”

“I don’t understand how me loving you is what the problem was, Louis. I don’t see how that sent you out that fucking door.”

His expression is unreadable now and Harry doesn’t like that.

“You weren’t growing, Harry. You were living this wasted life and I couldn’t be a part of it anymore. Could you imagine ten, fifteen years from now if we were still together? If you were at that coffee shop and I was at that restaurant, would we be happy? No, Harry, we wouldn’t have been. I know we would’ve had each other and I know that it would’ve been the two of us but I couldn’t live with the idea that I was the reason you weren’t going anywhere with your life. And I knew eventually you’d wake up one morning and realize it too and hold it against me. That kind of resentment between us would kill us, Harry.”

“I would’ve been fine, Louis. We would’ve been fine.”

“ _You_ would’ve been fine. But what about me? Where’s my room to grow? Where’s my chance to do something with my life? I was being boxed in. I was being boxed into your life and that was my only way out. It wasn’t easy walking out that door, Harry. It was the hardest fucking thing I had to. But I needed to do it to give us a fighting chance.”

“So you thought packing your bags and leaving was the answer?” Harry spits back, the resentment clear in his voice as he does so.

“How else was I supposed to spark something in you? How else was I supposed to make you realize how stuck you were? I knew if it wasn’t me you’d find someone, someday, eventually. And until then you’d be making something for yourself.” Louis takes in another deep breath, gripping the edge of the counter now. “Then one day Greg’s at my desk and he’s showing me your resume and God, Harry, I wanted you to take the job. I wanted to call you and scream at you, yell at you to take the job. Then Greg told me that you’d taken it and I couldn’t believe it.”

Harry’s chewing the inside of his cheek, trying to imagine Louis’ perspective, trying to piece it altogether.

“Then you came and look where you are now, Haz. God, look at you. You’re wearing suits and you’re reading manuscripts, you’re doing what you love. You have an entire office to yourself, for Christ’s sake.”

“Are you happy, Louis?” Harry asks.

Louis takes a deep breath. “Yeah, I am. I mean I’m not Editorial Assistant or anything, but I’m happy. Or as happy as I can be without you, I suppose,” he says after a moment, his grip on the counter loosening.

“Still not fair what you did, y’know.”

Louis nods. “I know, Harry. I know that. And I’m sorry. I fucked up with both you and Greg, and that’s my fault. I was an asshole.”

The sun’s beginning to set, orange and yellow hues being painted along his walls. And for a moment he wonders if they could’ve had this conversation at their old flat, wonders if he would’ve believed Louis, wonders if he would’ve listened. A part of him wants to believe he would have, but the larger part of him knows he wouldn’t have.

“M’sorry too. I’m so sorry, Louis.” 

“I know.” Louis sighs quietly, more so out of fatigue than annoyance. “I just, what do we do from here?”

The question stays with Harry for a moment as he blinks. “Well, there’s only two ways this can go, Louis. We can either end this right here right now and never look back. Or we can try and find a way to make this work.”

And for a brief moment he wonders if Louis will walk out that door. If he’ll turn his back on Harry for the final time and leave him alone in his kitchen once more. So he holds his breath and waits. Louis is fiddling with the hem of his shirt and there’s so much distance between them that Harry doesn’t know where to begin.

“It’s not going to be easy,” Louis speaks after a moment.

“I know,” Harry says.

“It’s going to be really shitty sometimes.” 

“I know that, too.”

Louis finally, _finally_ looks up from the counter then, eyes on Harry as he lets a small smile tug at the corner of his lips. It’s hopeful, Harry thinks. 

“I can’t go back to how it was,” Louis warns, voice serious again.

“No, clearly not,” Harry says in agreement and Louis seems to relax at that a little.

“We can’t trap ourselves again, Harry. We have to give ourselves space to grow. To, I don’t know fuck, to be ourselves.” Harry takes a cautious step toward him and thankfully Louis doesn’t back away at that. 

Harry nods, to show he’s listening. 

“We have to make an effort. Go out with friends, do things outside of our flat, even if it’s for something ridiculous like snorkeling -”

“Do you know of any remote snorkeling locations in London, Louis?” he teases and Louis rolls his eyes fondly at that.

“Shut up, I’m trying to make a _point_ here and you’re being terribly distracting,” Louis whines as Harry’s fingertips brush along the back of his hand.

“You didn’t tell me to stop though,” Harry comments as he brushes his lips against Louis’ wrist, relishing in the way his eyes flutter at that.

“No, I didn’t,” Louis replies simply, his expression going serious once more. “But I mean it, Harry. We can’t do that to ourselves again. I don’t know if I could survive that.”

“I don’t think I could either,” Harry admits, running the pad of his thumb along Louis’ jawline.

He leans into Harry’s touch, not saying anything as they stay like that for a while. Harry can see Louis here, can picture him so clearly walking around the flat in the early hours of the morning, eyes puffy from sleep. 

“Hey,” Harry says softly, Louis’ eyes meeting his. “Missed you.”

Louis presses a kiss to the pad of his thumb for a moment, the small smile returning to his lips as he does so.

“Missed _you_.” He pokes a finger to Harry’s chest at that and Harry laughs quietly in response.

And yeah, it’s going to be a lot of work. And somedays it’s not going to be easy, but Harry knows it’ll be worth it. Knows that he wouldn’t want to do this with or for anybody else. Just Louis. Only Louis.  
And somehow he knows they’re going to be okay.

“Guess I better give Fate a call then shouldn’t I?” he asks cheekily. Louis shakes his head in response.

“Tell them I think you’re a right arsehole.” 

Harry laughs at that because, well – he has a point.

\--

Harry gets to work at 8, a half an hour early. His mind hasn’t stopped racing since he got up this morning, his alarm blaring and waking him after only three hours of sleep. Somehow he and Louis managed to talk until 3 am, tucked away on his couch and reminiscing until the sun started to rise.

But it’s the morning he’s been dreading because that means he has to talk to Greg. There’s no tip-toeing around it. He has to go in there and have the conversation. He can’t shake the sense of dread building in him as the elevator door dings and he makes his way down the hallway and into his office. Louis’ desk is empty, as expected; he’s probably sleeping like any sane human being would be after getting three hours of sleep.

Harry puts his things away and takes in a deep breath. There’s no backing out of it. He has to go in there.

Without another minute to talking himself out of it, Harry makes his way to Greg’s office, tapping on the door.

“Come in.” Greg’s voice is lacking his usual enthusiasm and immediately Harry feels his heart drop.

“I um, I wanted to talk to you,” Harry says as he opens the door, hoping and praying no sharp objects are thrown in his direction.

He’s instead greeted with Greg forcing a smile from his desk, nodding. He’s been expecting it too, Harry thinks, as he makes his way toward a chair.

“I knew you would.”

Harry gives a small smile, though it’s about as forced as Greg’s. The guilt immediately washes over him. 

“We should have told you,” Harry begins, now regretting not having written down his thoughts beforehand. 

“No shit.” Greg winces as soon as the words leave his mouth, waving his hand. “Sorry, God, that was harsh I don’t - I don’t know where that came from.”

Of course Greg’s going to be a good fucking person right now. 

“It’s okay, Greg. You’re allowed to be mad. God, I mean, I _want_ you to be mad.” Harry folds his hands in his lap as he speaks, uncertain of what else to do with them.

Greg’s quiet for a moment.

“I saw the way he looked at you, you know,” he says, after a moment.

Harry pauses at that, brows furrowing. “I’m sorry?”

“Louis. Sometimes you’d be at his desk and I’d see him look up at you and suddenly it would all make sense. And I suppose I knew, y’know? Knew that he’d never look at me that way. But a part of me wanted to hold out, wanted to see.” His voice is cracking and oh God, Harry doesn’t know what to do.

“Greg, I’m - I’m so sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry and you have every right to be upset and mad and, Jesus, I mean, you can fire me if you want to. I just... I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“He could never love me like he does you, Harry. It’s okay. I know that now.” Greg gives him a sad sort of smile. “I’m not going to fire you; that would be worst decision I could make. But I am going to... I dunno - need some space. Or something. But I don’t hate you, Harry.”

“I really am sorry, Greg.”

“I know.”

Harry’s not sure what else to add, what else he can say to help, as Greg laughs quietly.

“It’ll be okay, Harry. I just need some time, is all.”

Harry understands that. He slowly stands from his chair, surprised to see Greg extending a hand toward him as he does so.

“Thanks, Harry.” 

Here he is, a man heartbroken _thanking_ him. Harry is certain there is only one Greg James in the world, and he’s a better person than Harry could ever hope to be.

“I’ll, um. I’ll see you at 2:30 then,” Harry says as he closes the door, exhaling as he makes his way back into his office.

He’s barely inside for more than five seconds when there’s another knock at the door. “If you’re coming back to punch me, I’m going to say that opportunity passed the moment I walked out -”

But he stops, seeing a rather confused Louis in his doorway.

“Right. You’re not Greg,” Harry says dumbly and Louis shakes his head, slipping through the door as he closes it behind himself now.

“Good observation,” Louis says. He takes Harry’s hands into his own, not missing a beat. “How’d it go?” 

Harry frowns, replaying the image of Greg’s sad expression in his mind. “He’s not firing me, first of all. He also said he’ll be okay. He just... needs time. Which is understandable, all things considered.”

Louis gets a knowing smile to his lips, shaking his head. “He’s a gentlemen in all things, including getting his heart broken.” 

“God, don’t remind me,” Harry whines as Louis brushes a curl from his forehead.

“Sorry, sorry, forget I said anything.” Louis’s tone is apologetic as he leans up to press a faint kiss to Harry’s cheek.

“Don’t you have, like, phones to answer, or something?” Harry asks, feeling Louis’ hands on his waist.

“Hmm. Probably,” Louis responds, nipping at the skin along Harry’s jawline before pulling away, with one last squeeze to his hands before doing so. “I’m glad you talked to him, Harry.”

He presses a kiss to the back of Louis’ hand before he pulled it away completely. “Anything for you, Louis.”

“We are _not_ going to be that couple in the office everyone hates to be around because they’re so cute and disgusting. I won’t stand for it.” 

“Don’t worry, I’m pretty sure Liam and Zayn have that title covered already,” Harry says back. Louis rolls his eyes before closing the door.

It’s weird, because he knows Greg is in the next room, mending a broken heart, while Harry is over the moon. He supposes there will always be a part of him that feels bad, yet he also knows that someday Greg’s going to find someone who will love him just as much as he loved Louis, if not more.

He sits at his desk and begins on the terribly large pile of work that’s accumulated. He sorts through papers and designs and proposals and tries _not_ to think about Louis, because he needs to get these done or else Greg _will_ have a reason to fire him.

He has a meeting with Zayn at 12:30, though the first fifteen minutes of that he hears about Liam, and Harry takes a minute to update him on Louis. By the time he looks at his clock, it’s 1:15 and they haven’t discussed any of the designs that they were supposed to. 

“You look happy, Harry,” Zayn comments and Harry smiles, because as terrible and cheesy as it sounds, he is happy.

The rest of the day goes by rather quickly, mostly because Harry’s cooped up in his office, attempting to get as much as he can done before 4.

“So I’ll see you tonight at 7?” Louis asks as he pokes his head through the door.

Harry glances up from his desk. “Yeah, 7.” 

Louis grins and nods before closing the door and fuck, he makes it impossible to do anything.

\--

“Jesus, Styles, how long does it take to make dinner?”

Harry’s adding some spices to his chicken pasta mixture when Louis leans against the counter, looking at him expectantly. If he keeps this up, Harry will no doubt burn the food at this rate. 

“I told you, it takes awhile,” he responds, deciding to play along with his game. 

“Yes, but you didn’t say _this_ long,” Louis whines and Harry can’t help the grin that breaks out across his face now.

“I just need to finish this and then we can eat, alright?” From the corner of his eye he can see Louis pouting but decides to ignore it.

He’d gotten a late start to dinner, mostly due to the fact that he’d missed his usual train which had set him back a good half an hour. By the time Louis had arrived at his flat, all he’d managed to get done was thaw some chicken in the microwave and open a can of pasta sauce. However Louis hadn’t complained, instead he took a few minutes to acquaint himself with Harry’s flat, wandering around quietly as Harry had kept to himself in the kitchen. He likes it, likes seeing Louis in his flat again. But now he’s here, leaning against the counter and Harry needs to remind himself that this is real, it’s really happening.

“Have you ever kissed anyone?” Harry asks suddenly. 

Louis looks at him, head snapping up, as if in near disbelief that Harry actually remembers, but then he smiles, fingertips tracing lazy designs on the countertop. He shrugs, attempting to look nonchalant about the whole thing now.

“Do you want to kiss me, Styles?” Louis finally says back.

“I dunno. Maybe.” Harry keeps his eyes focused on the pan before him, stirring the contents in a circular motion.

“Cause you can tell me if you do,” Louis encourages with a small smile.

And Christ, it’s like Harry’s suddenly 16 again. He can hardly keep the stupid grin off his face.

“Just forget I said anything. Shouldn’t have asked. Stupid,” he mutters in response, shaking his head as he reaches for two plates from his cupboard now.

“Admit it, Haz, you want to kiss me,” Louis presses, chin resting on his hands as Harry pretends not to notice.

“It’s terribly unfair, y’know. You know you’re my weakness.” He begins to scoop some of the pasta onto the bowls then, retrieving a bottle of wine from the fridge before turning to face Louis now.

“Maybe I want to kiss you?” Louis says finally.

Harry’s grin widens and Louis’ mirrors it, and he leans closer, perching on the counter. He runs a hand through Harry’s curls, pushing their foreheads together, noses brushing. Louis laughs quietly, breath warm on his cheeks.

Louis starts, “So are you going to get on with it or -” 

Harry promptly cuts Louis off, kissing him tenderly. Louis brings a gentle hand to rest behind his neck. He tastes like mint and a bit of coffee, but yet still Louis. 

“You’ve gotten better at this, Styles. I’m impressed,” Louis says after a moment, laughing at the way Harry scrunches his nose in response.

“It’s been eight years, Tomlinson,” Harry says back with a smile.


End file.
